


Rebuilding Tomorrow

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-27
Updated: 2006-12-13
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:54:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: The war is over, but the wizarding community is broken. With the Ministry of Magic destroyed and the population slashed nearly in half, Ron and Hermione struggle to help save the world they both love. They soon find that even though Voldemort is gone, there are just as many secrets and lies as when he was alive. Will they realise that instead of trying to rebuild magical Britain, what they really need to do is save themselves?





	1. Fifteen White Stones

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

 

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**Chapter One: Fifteen White Stones**

 

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Friday morning brought a fine mist from the north, making the day much cooler than normal for July. The moisture in the air was enough to make Hermione’s already frizzy hair bushier than ever and she had to tame it back with two large red and gold clips. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her, her knuckles turning white. Ron watched her; the black skirt she wore hung just below her knees and her black sandals showed off her perfectly clipped toenails, shiny with clear nail polish. For some reason, Ron’s eyes focused on the crumpled grass underneath her sandals, trying desperately to not think of anything and failing completely.

 

Right after sun-up they had Apparated to a deserted house in Godric’s Hollow. The house was eerily clean; there wasn’t any dust or grim or cobwebs. 

 

‘Could be Perma-Dust,’ Hermione had said. ‘Keeps dust away for a lifetime. Though, I suspect it really only lasts a few years. Besides …’ Here, she took a giant breath, letting it out unsteadily. 

 

‘Besides what?’

 

Hermione shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together. She turned away from him, but not before Ron could see the glassy look of her eyes and the way she rapidly blinked back her tears. 

 

Now they both stood on the hillside; the mist had turned to a drizzle and Hermione transfigured a dandelion into an umbrella as her eyes looked down, where the land stopped sloping and became flat. Almost the entirety of the bottom of the hill was covered with bouquets of enchanted flowers and plants, letters and cards, and gifts wrapped up in paper.

 

A strange sort of flapping sound came from Ron’s left. Fluttering in the breeze was an issue of the _Daily Prophet_. Ron left Hermione’s side and the shelter of the umbrella, and walked over to the tree where the black and white pages were hitting its trunk. He bent down and picked it up. The pages were wet and stuck together but Ron managed to pry them apart to find the front page. July 10th. Three weeks ago. 

 

**TRAGEDY ENDS HERE: VOLDEMORT DEFEATED, WAR IS OVER**

 

The article was complete with a list of every witch and wizard who fought in that last battle. Ron’s eyes sought out his own name where it was printed after Harry’s and before Hermione’s. Then there was a list of all casualties with dates and circumstances. Three pages of list. Ron’s stomach fell and bile rose to the back of his throat. 

 

The summer before he was a sixth-year, several people were killed by Death Eaters, including a couple Order members. The summer before what would have been his seventh year was much the same, a sprinkling of names every couple of weeks, tragic ‘accidents’ that ended with the Dark Mark in the air above dead bodies. But once the school year hit, everything changed. The murder rate went from a few times a month to a several times a week. No one was safe; everybody was a target. In order to stay sane, Ron had to force himself not to think of his family. He dreamt of oversleeping and missing the final battle only to find that he was left alone, his entire family and Harry dead, Hermione nowhere to be found.

 

Those were only dreams, though, and he figured Hermione and Harry had nightmares of their own.

 

From the back pocket of his trousers, Ron pulled out his wand and Vanished the newspaper. He rubbed his eyes and wanted to hex himself for not being strong enough yet to be back here. The past year, Ron had forced himself not to take things too far with Hermione. A few stolen kisses, touches, and hugs, but their focus had been on Harry, the Horcruxes, and helping to end the war. It was a focus that took all of their time and energy and it ended here, at Godric’s Hollow.

 

‘Are you all right?’ Hermione asked.

 

Ron turned his head to look at her. Her fingers twirled the handle of the umbrella and that glassy look in her eyes returned.

 

‘I’m fine,’ he lied. He tilted his head back and looked up towards the sky. It was grey and the clouds were thick. Three weeks – it had only been three weeks since the war officially ended, since Voldemort was killed by Harry. The wizarding government was struggling to survive without a headquarters, but they had managed to organise the massive funeral for today. All the Muggles in the town had suddenly been struck by the bizarre need to visit out-of-town relatives. The entire area had been cast with protective charms and anti-Muggle security. Only family and friends were invited to the funerals; the Ministry knew that otherwise Godric’s Hollow would be swarmed with witches and wizards wanting to pay their respects for those who gave their lives in order to make the wizarding world a safer place.

 

‘It’s all right if you aren’t.’ Hermione extended her hand as though to touch him, but paused. Her hand dropped back down by her side and she continued to twirl the umbrella.

 

‘I thought I was feeling a bit better about all this rot and now we’re, y’know, _here_ and in twenty minutes we have to go sit … and there’s all those coffins and stuff.’

 

Hermione smiled lightly.

 

‘I wasn’t making sense, was I?’

 

‘You were. This is where we watched our friends die. Order members. Have you given more thought to speaking at the funerals?’

 

Ron shook his head.

 

‘Harry said—’

 

‘I don’t give a shit what Harry said,’ snapped Ron. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean … I don’t want to fight.’

 

‘I don’t want to fight either,’ said Hermione. She reached her hand out again, but this time took hold of his upper arm and pulled Ron towards her. The umbrella fell on the ground as Hermione wrapped both arms around Ron, giving him a hard hug. ‘Today’s going to be the hardest day. After that things will get better. I’m here for you. Always.’

 

Ron paused for a moment before returning the embrace. His chin rested on top of Hermione’s frizzy head and he breathed in the scent of her shampoo, wishing they could just stand here like this until the funerals were over. 

 

Suddenly, Ron heard a distinctive _crack_ and opened his eyes. Ginny had Apparated a few metres behind Hermione. She looked older, like a woman, even though she was still only sixteen.

 

‘Hi,’ she said. Her smile was forced and her eyes betrayed her; they looked lost and sad.

 

‘Hi, Ginny,’ said Hermione. ‘Where’s your mum?’

 

‘She’s coming in a bit with Professor McGonagall. Since …’ Ginny swallowed and wet her lips before beginning again. ‘Since the Minister asked us to sit in the front rows ‘cause we were _there_ … at the battle … well, Mum just reckons she’d come and find someone to sit with.’

 

‘How’s she doing this morning?’ asked Hermione, reaching down to pick up the umbrella as the rain started to fall down a bit harder again. ‘Do you want me to transfigure you one?’

 

‘No, I’ll do it.’ Ginny picked up a fallen tree branch and waved her wand at it, turning it into a umbrella. The handle was knobbly and crooked, but it did its job keeping the rain off. ‘Mum’s all right. She’s better than I was when I woke up. I don’t want to do this.’

 

‘Neither do I,’ grumbled Ron.

 

‘Sit next to us,’ said Hermione.

 

‘Tonks told me to sit with her and Lupin. Gave me full permission to cry into his shoulder if I had to. She’s much stronger than I am.’

 

‘I don’t think it’s strength,’ said Hermione softly. ‘She hasn’t lost the same as you have.’ She looked at Ron. ‘Or you. She’s lost, for certain, but she’s older and the loss is different.’

 

‘I don’t want to talk about this. Let’s just get down there.’

 

Ron began walking down the hill with Hermione and Ginny closely behind. They past all the flowers and gifts that had been left as offerings earlier in the week and made their way towards the small lake in the middle of Godric’s Hollow. There were rows and rows of white chairs, half of which were already occupied. In front of the chairs, also in neat rows, were fifteen stone coffins, each with crests carved in the tops. A faint whispering was caught on the wind; Ron could hear some people talking and other crying. In one of the chairs in the front row sat someone with a mess of black hair.

 

‘What’re you doing?’ Ginny asked.

 

Ron looked down at his feet. He had stopped walking several feet in front of the chairs. Hermione took his hand and entwined their fingers. 

 

‘You’re getting yourself wet,’ she whispered. She took her wand and tapped him on top of his head. Immediately he felt his hair and clothes dry. Hermione lifted the umbrella up a bit higher so it would cover his head. ‘What’s wrong? We need to go sit down.’

 

‘I thought I saw …’

 

‘Who?’ said Ginny. ‘Harry?’

 

‘Ron,’ said Hermione very slowly, ‘Harry isn’t coming.’

 

‘I know, but he said—’

 

‘ _Ron_.’

 

‘Let’s go,’ said Ginny. ‘I see Lupin and Tonks up there with Tonks’ dad.’

 

She pushed past her brother and Ron watched her walk down the aisle and sit next to Lupin. Tonks’ hair was still mousey brown, but Ron wasn’t sure whether she wasn’t morphing because she couldn’t or from some request made by Lupin for her to be ‘normal.’

 

Ron let Hermione lead him towards the front row of chairs. She sat him down and kept her hand in his while holding the umbrella over him so he wouldn’t get wet. Everything felt off; nothing felt right. The sniffling and crying sounds grew louder as more people came to the funeral site. Ron didn’t want to turn around and look. He hoped his mother was there, though, with Professor McGonagall. Even though she could be stern and strict, McGonagall had a warm heart and hopefully would be able to sooth his mum. 

 

His family was in shambles. Those who weren’t dead were still in St Mungo’s. And looking at those coffins, Ron felt sick. He didn’t know who was in which coffin and the idea that someone he used to laugh with and love was now lying there, eyes closed, body stiff, made him want to cry.

 

The Minister for Magic stood up on the podium and raised his arms in the air to ask for silence. He looked exhausted, as though he hadn’t slept in days. His voice was hoarse and dry. 

 

‘For the past few years our world has been plagued by evil. Three weeks ago, one brave boy set out to fulfil a prophecy and killed He Who Shall Not Be Named. Sitting in these two front rows are the brave witches and wizards who fought along side that boy. Behind me, are the brave ones who were killed during battle. Their deaths haven’t been in vain! Every year we will celebrate July tenth as a day to rejoice in our freedom. You no longer have to live in fear for your lives or the lives of your loved ones!’

 

‘I can’t listen to this,’ Ron said quietly. Each word the Minister said constricted Ron’s chest a little bit more until he felt as though he was suffocating. It felt as if there was a wad of cotton in his mouth and swallowing became a challenge. 

 

Hermione squeezed his hand as the Minister continued. The small gesture calmed him down, but then the Minster began to read a list of names of all those who were killed by Death Eaters. He began with names from the 1970s, went through Lily and James Evans, but when he said ‘Sirius Black’ and ‘Albus Dumbledore’ Ron felt himself lose that calm. 

 

‘I can’t listen to this,’ he said again and stood up, walking very quickly past all the rows of chairs and towards the hill where the house was. Eyes followed him leave, but Ron shrugged off the stares, not caring what any of those people thought of him. One of the magical flowers reached its leaves out and grabbed hold of the cuff of his trousers and Ron stumbled. 

 

‘ _Fuck_!’ he snarled, kicking the vase of flowers over.

 

‘Ron.’

 

His head snapped back and he saw Hermione coming forward, her hair still a frizzy mess. The umbrella wasn’t in her hand so her shirt was beginning to stick to her like a second skin. Her round face turned up to look at him. Ron couldn’t stand to look at her, not now. He didn’t want to look at anything. His feet took him to a nearby tree where he practically fell to the ground. The bark was rough as he pressed his back to it. Hermione came to him, knelt in front of him, and put her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her.

 

‘Ron.’

 

His name off her tongue was like a kiss, her lips puckering together as she pronounced the R. 

 

‘Stay here,’ he whispered, feeling the drops of tears down his cheeks. ‘Until it’s over.’

 

‘You don’t want to leave?’

 

‘I do. I just don’t think you’d let me.’

 

Hermione grinned. ‘I wouldn’t. I think you need to see the tombs once the coffins are charmed underground and read the names.’

 

‘What about the Muggles? Won’t they notice a new cemetery?’

 

‘Tombs are only visible to witches and wizards,’ answered Hermione. She sat down on the wet ground, looping her arm through Ron’s and resting her head on his shoulder. ‘Remember Dumbledore’s funeral? You held me and told me everything would be okay in the end? It’s my turn to say those things now. You’ve been strong for me all year long.’

 

‘You don’t need to say that, Hermione.’ Ron put his arm around her shoulders. Having her close to him like that only made the need to cry all that more apparent. He missed his family and friends, but he was more grateful that Hermione was next to him, alive, with hardly a scar left from the war. That gratefulness made him feeling guilty, as though he was betraying the memory of everyone who had died. 

 

He let a few more tears fall and just waited for the end of the Minister’s speech. Several people were supposed to speak today, and it felt as if they waited for hours, just sitting in silence, waiting for everything to end. After being there, by the tree, for a while, everything turned a bit hazy and Ron’s eyes fogged over.

 

‘Ron … _Ron_ …’

 

Ron opened his eyes. ‘Whazzit?’

 

‘You dozed off. Everyone’s gone. Do you want to go back now? The tombs are up.’

 

Ron shook his head, but stood up anyway, knowing Hermione would make him go back no matter what. Somewhere during his light nap, the rain had stopped. Hermione waved her wand at him, drying his clothes and vanishing the dirt on his trousers. They walked back silently and Ron felt that same suffocating feeling as he looked at the fifteen white stones in front of him. He went to the first one and read all the names to himself, knowing that once he got to the end he and Hermione could both Apparate back to The Burrow.

 

_Dedalus Diggle … Hestia Jones … Alastor Moody … Andromeda Tonks … Severus Snape … Kingsley Shacklebolt … Luna Lovegood … Ernie Macmillan … Rubeus Hagrid … Aberforth Dumbledore … Arthur Weasley … Charlie Weasley … Fred Weasley … Percy Weasley …_

 

Ron got to the last tomb and felt the anger in him rise. He turned his back on it. 

 

‘Let’s go,’ he said to Hermione. 

 

She nodded and Apparated with a loud _crack_! Ron followed, leaving behind him the fifteen tombs, the last one reading, _Harry Potter_.

 

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**To Be Continued …**

 

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	2. Four Empty Chairs

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**Chapter Two: Four Empty Chairs**

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When Ron Apparated into his kitchen his mum was sitting at the table with Tonks and Lupin.  Mrs Weasley’s eyes were swollen and bloodshot and her nose was bright red.  Her ginger hair was half grey now and falling out of its twisty bun, but instead of making her look windswept, it made her look dishevelled and a bit mad.  Tonks looked subdued, her chin resting in her hand, her eyes half-shut, and her mouth slightly open.  Lupin looked more tired than usual, but his hair seemed to have less grey in it.  Ron figured it must be because with the war over there was less to worry about.  That, or Tonks was helping to keep him young.  

Hermione was at the counter, pouring pumpkin juice into a tall glass.  

‘D’you want some?’ 

Ron shook his head.  ‘No.  Where’s Ginny?’ 

‘She’s upstairs,’ answered Mrs Weasley.

‘In her room?’

‘Yes.’

‘With _him_?’

‘Ron, if you go up there and cause trouble, so help me I’ll—’

‘Don’t worry, Mrs Weasley,’ interrupted Hermione, ‘I’ll make sure he behaves.  I’ll hex him if he doesn’t.’

‘Good girl.  I’d hate for Tonks to have to make an arrest on her last week off of work.’

Tonks smiled feebly and Ron had to look away.  Everyone was so depressed-looking he couldn’t stand it.  

‘I should get home to Dad,’ said Tonks, pushing her chair back and standing up.  ‘He said he wanted to go home alone, but I feel like I should check in on him since Mum …’ Her voice cracked a bit and Remus ran his hand across her lower back.  The small gesture seemed to visibly calm her.

‘Your mum would want you to check in on him.  Did you want to stay there or are you going to come home?’ Lupin asked.  Ron still found it strange to hear Lupin refer to Tonks’ flat as ‘home,’ even though they had been living together for several months.

‘Oh, I’ll come home tonight.’  She kissed the top of Lupin’s head.  ‘Thanks for the tea, Molly.  I appreciate it.’  Tonks took a step back and tripped over the leg of the table.  She righted herself before she fell completely over and tried to laugh at her clumsiness.  Only a moment later did she Disapparate.  Mrs Weasley and Lupin remained quiet as they sat at the table.

At the end of the table was the largest chair, the one with the broken arm and only half-painted with green paint.  It was chipping off now, but Ron could picture his father sitting there, looking at his brood through oddly-shaped glasses, tilting his head, patched with red hair, back as he laughed at the twins, and then ducking as Mrs Weasley tried to hit him with a dishtowel for encouraging them with his obvious amusement.  None of the chairs around the table matched.  The one Mr Weasley had always sat in was small and wobbly and had been broken and repaired countless times.  

Ron’s eyes moved from his father’s chair over to the one that was always occupied by Fred.  It had a large burn mark in the seat which smelled faintly of watermelon – no one ever figured out exactly what had happened.

Percy’s chair was the only one that looked pristine.  He’d used his wand to reinforce the legs (he didn’t trust the twins not to do something to his chair so that when he sat down, it’d break and he’d fall on his bum!) and talked his mum into sewing cushions for the seat.  When he left and stopped speaking to the family, his chair had disappeared.  Ron found it once in his dad’s shed, turned upside down as though it had been Banished there.  Now the chair was back at the table.

A big split down the middle of Charlie’s chair set it apart from the rest.  He’d had a slight run-in with Bill where his chair had been broken completely in half.  Neither of them knew magic very well yet and they both tried using their wands to fix the chair.  Their rudimentary magic left a large split in the chair, but it never broke again.  

The kitchen table would never be the same now.  Ron wondered if those chairs would always be reserved for his dad and brothers or if future wives and grandchildren would take them over.  Part of him never wanted to see another redhead sitting there, but he knew that probably wasn’t realistic either.  There were extra chairs that were magically stacked in the corner and taken down when extra company came over.  In the past, Hermione had taken over Percy’s chair while Harry had always taken Charlie’s from the beginning.  Now, Ron looked at Percy’s chair, not able to imagine anyone else sitting there, even Hermione.  She wasn’t a part of the Weasley family the same way Harry always was.  One day that might change though.

Ron blinked hard and shook his head.  He didn’t like having those thoughts.  Having Hermione part of his family.  Officially.  Before he had the excuse that one of them might die so imagining the future together was a reality he didn’t know if he would have.  But now he didn’t like to entertain the thought because she had so much in front of her.  What if she said no?  Not that he planned on asking.  Not for several years.  He wanted to wait because now they _could_ wait.  Death wasn’t looming over their heads anymore.  They didn’t _have_ to get married because of all the what-ifs – the main what-if being, _what-if one of us dies?_   Ron wanted to wait.  They had all the time in the world now and it wasn’t as though witches and wizards didn’t live to be well over one-hundred anyway!

His thoughts of Hermione being an official part of the family turned to what would happen if Harry was permanently linked to them through Ginny.  Ron looked at the stairs, wondering how long it would take him to run up those stairs and barge into Ginny’s room.  

‘Don’t do it, Ron,’ said Hermione, looking at him.  ‘Let them just enjoy the afternoon.  They aren’t going to do anything with your mum downstairs.  Even _they_ aren’t _that_ stupid.’

Ron clenched his jaw and shoved his hands in his pockets.  

‘Why didn’t you stay for the whole ceremony?’ Mrs Weasley asked, looking at her son.  ‘The Minister said such nice things, even mentioned your father by name.’  She blew her nose on a blue handkerchief stained wet with tears.  

‘I didn’t want to hear the Minister talk.  He’s a giant sod.’

‘Ronald!’ screeched Mrs Weasley.  Ron didn’t respond and there was a silence in the room that stretched on for well over a minute before Mrs Weasley broke it by stuttering, ‘We’re going to St M-Mungo’s later to see Bill an-an-and George.’  She sniffled and blew her nose again.

‘I’m going up there,’ said Ron, ignoring his mother.

‘Ron, no, don’t,’ pleaded Hermione.’

‘We’re going to leave at half-four.  If you’re not down here to go we’ll just leave you here.’

‘Don’t do it, Ron,’ implored Hermione.

Ron didn’t want to listen to her.  He went to the stairs and ran up them, his feet making loud clunking sounds against the creaky steps.  As he turned the corner, the door to Ginny’s room came into view.  It wasn’t completely shut, but it was pulled almost all the way closed.  He was almost at the door when with a _crack_ , Hermione Apparated directly in front of him.

Her hands were on her hips and her face was scrunched up with annoyance, her eyes narrowed, her lips pressed tightly together.

‘What is wrong with you?’ she demanded, looking rather scary, but Ron was too angry to be intimidated.

‘What is wrong with _you_?  Get out of my way.’

Hermione didn’t move.

‘ _Move_ , Hermione.’

‘No.’

Ron had already cried once and for some reason, he suddenly felt that urge once again.  He tried to suppress it, not wanting to be so bloody emotional.  It didn’t take long for Ron to realise that Hermione really wasn’t going to move.  He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

‘You look tired,’ said Hermione.

Ron nodded.

‘Let’s go to your room.’

He looked at her, wondering what they would do once they reached his room.  That thought didn’t last long because the door to Ginny’s room opened.  Hermione grimaced and moved out of the way.  Ron walked right up into the doorway.  Standing there was a seventeen-year-old _man_ , his hair sticking up and his shirt untucked.

‘I am so goddamn hacked off at you!’ he said, pushing the wizard in Ginny’s room, causing him to trip and fall on his bum on the floor.

‘RON!’ screeched Ginny.  ‘Leave him alone!’

‘Why weren’t you there today?’ demanded Ron, standing over the wizard and trying his best to look menacing.  

‘What is wrong with you?’ the wizard yelled.  ‘You know I couldn’t go.  What if people saw me?’

‘You’re a giant sod.’

‘I thought you said the Minister was the giant sod,’ said Hermione, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Ron turned his head around and frowned at her.

‘Look, Ron, I’m sorry I couldn’t go.  I wanted to, but I just couldn’t.’

‘You’re taking the easy way out.  Faking your own death.  I think that’s right cowardly, Harry.’

‘I didn’t _fake_ it.  It’s more like I just didn’t tell anyone I was alive.  Voldemort didn’t leave behind a body so it was easy to pretend that my body just sort-of disintegrated as well.  You know I’d never get a moment’s peace.  Everyone would want interviews or want to see the Boy Who Lived.  I don’t want that.  I need privacy.  No one needs to know I’m alive.’

‘What are you going to do?  Just stay shut up in The Burrow for the next hundred years until you die?’

Harry shrugged.  ‘I don’t know.  I have enough money that I don’t actually have to work if I don’t want to.  I figured I might get my eyes fixed so I wouldn’t have to wear my glasses anymore and now that my scar’s gone I could go back to Hogwarts and teach or something.  The new kids that’re coming won’t know it’s me if I don’t have the scar.’

‘You still look like you,’ said Ron.

‘My picture isn’t in any books or anything.  I doubt a bunch of titchy eleven-year-olds are going to know who I am.’

‘You could always charm your hair a different colour,’ suggested Hermione.

‘Don’t encourage him!’ cried Ron.

Hermione’s frown deepened.

‘Never mind.  I’m going to my room.’  Ron turned around and stomped out of Ginny’s room.  He slammed the door behind him, but instead of going to his room, he stayed in the hallway, waiting to see if Hermione was going to follow him or not.  She didn’t come out right away; he heard her talking to Harry and Ginny.

‘He’s just upset.  The funeral was harder on him than he thought it was going to be.  He fought along side Luna and Ernie and watched one of the Death Eaters kill them.  And of course his brothers and dad.’

‘I lost the same,’ said Ginny, sounding annoyed.

‘But you’re not afraid to let people know when you’re angry or sad,’ said Hermione.  ‘Ron can get angry, but he doesn’t like to admit it, unless he’s angry with me, of course.  And he certainly doesn’t like to let anyone know he’s sad.  I suspect he’s just upset because it _does_ kind of seem as though you got the easy way out, Harry, not having to go to the funerals or ever have to deal with the aftershocks of the war from the public.  He and I have been asked questions and been thanked by everyone.  I know people are grateful, but we really just wanted to go to the Leaky Cauldron and get something to eat, but no one would leave us be.  Every witch and wizard wanted to know what fighting Voldemort was like.’

There was silence for several seconds.  Ron’s palms grew wet with sweat and he wiped them on the thighs of his trousers.

‘That’s why I can’t have anyone know I’m alive.  They’d come looking for me.  They’d knock on the door to The Burrow trying to find me.  If you think your lunch at Leaky was bad, imagine if _I_ was there.’

Ron rolled his eyes.  Harry sounded cocky, even if it was the absolute truth.  They would never be able to go anywhere without Harry being mobbed.  And after years of being the Boy Who Lived, Harry did deserve privacy and to get away from the prying eyes of the magical world.  He couldn’t stay at The Burrow forever, though, could he?

‘I know,’ came Hermione’s voice through the door.  ‘Just go easy on him for a couple days, all right?  He’ll get over it and you’ll both be best mates again.’

‘Right.’

‘I should go check on Ron.’

Ron’s eyes widened a little.  He had to get to his room before Hermione found him eavesdropping in the hallway.  Running up the stairs, he made it to his room, closed the door, and flopped down on his bed before Hermione knocked softly and entered.  She gave him a small smile.

‘Are you all right?’

Ron nodded.  ‘I’m fine.’  He put his arms behind his head and crossed his legs at the ankles, trying to look as relaxed as possible.

Hermione came and sat down on the edge of the bed, resting her hand on his thigh.  They hadn’t touched much, except for frequent hugs, since the war ended.  Tears and deaths and funerals didn’t give either of them much energy for kissing and fooling around.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.  Come here.’  Ron pulled Hermione down next to him and hugged her to him.  She moved her hair out of her face and rested her head against his chest.  They were quiet for a while, hearing Mrs Weasley yell that they were leaving for St Mungo’s, but ignoring her.  It was nice to ignore everything and just lay there with Hermione.  Her breathing evened out and she dozed off for half an hour before stirring and opening her eyes.  Her leg moved and wrapped itself around one of Ron’s.  He loved the way she fit against him.

‘You fell asleep,’ he said.

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Are you staying here tonight?’

‘In your room?  No!’

Ron chuckled.  ‘No, at my house.’

Hermione shook her head, her hair tickling his arm as she moved.  ‘I need to go home.  See my parents.  They’re leaving for holiday on Sunday.’

‘Oh.  Where’re they going?’

‘A beach somewhere.  They’re going to let a house for a month.  Dad had his retirement party last week.  This holiday is his reward for being a dentist all these years.  Mum’s still going to work, though.’

‘Are you going to take your NEWTs?’

‘What?’

‘Your NEWTs.  We missed them at the end of term.  Not that I think I would’ve passed.  I missed most of my classes last year.’

‘We all did.’

‘You still got good marks.  I did horribly.’

Hermione sat up and looked at Ron; her hair fell in his face and he brushed it behind her shoulders.

‘What’s this all about?’

‘I was just wondering if you were gonna take the NEWTs.’

‘Silly, of course I am.  Are you?’

‘I don’t reckon they’ll do me much good.’

‘They’ll help you get a job.  Don’t you still want to be an Auror?’

Ron shrugged.  ‘I can’t be an Auror until there’s a new Ministry.’

‘There’s still a Ministry.  There’s a Minister and Heads of Departments.  There’s just not a _building_ , but they’re going to rebuild it.’

‘Yeah, and that’ll take forever.’

‘Forever?  I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration.’

Ron shrugged again.

‘Are you worried about getting a job?’

‘Maybe.  Sort-of.  Well, yeah.  I don’t want to stay here.  I’d like to get a flat on my own, but there doesn’t seem like anything I can do.’

‘I’ll help you study for the NEWTs, all right?  And you can take them and become an Auror.  By the time it’s time to take the NEWTs again at the end of next term the Ministry should be rebuilt.’

‘I dunno …’

‘Ron, I have to study as well.  We’ll do it together.  I’m good at studying.  And weren’t your marks better when I helped you with your homework?’

Ron nodded.

‘So it’s settled then.’

‘You’re lucky.  You get a whole house to yourself for a month.  What’ll you do after that?  Get a flat?’

‘I’m not sure.  I haven’t really decided.  Why don’t you and Harry move in together?  He can’t stay here indefinitely.’

‘That’ll go over well.  Can’t quite invite anyone over when your roommate is supposed to be underneath a tombstone.’

‘He can hide.  Or go to visit Ginny for a night.’

‘Hey!  That’s my sister you’re talkin’ about!  I don’t want to hear how Harry goes to visit her.’

Hermione snuggled back down next to Ron.  She snaked her hand underneath his shirt; her hand was cold against the warmth of his stomach.  A tingling feeling spread across his body; Hermione usually made his body respond like this.  

‘Ron?’

‘Mmm?’

‘Are you considering not taking your NEWTs because you don’t think you’ll make it into the Auror program?’

‘No,’ answered Ron, although he was certain Hermione wasn’t going to believe him.  She knew him better than anyone else possibly could, even Harry.

‘You can be clever when you’re not doubting yourself.’

Ron frowned, but didn’t say anything.  The way Hermione felt against him, he had no desire to get into a row and have her move – and responding about whether or not he doubted himself would only prove to hack him off.

‘When your parents are out of town, are you going to invite me over?’

‘There isn’t anything special at my house.’

‘You’re there.  I’ve never been there and I think it’d be kinda, y’know, cool to see where you used to sleep at night when you were a titchy little kid.’

‘You want to see my room?’

‘Ohh yeah.’

Hermione sat up again.  There was a mischievous look in her eye.  ‘I only sleep there.  Nothing special happens in my room.’

‘It _could_ – if I was there.’

Her laugh lit up her face, the first time it glowed since fifth year when she opened his Christmas gift.  The frizz of her hair curled around her chin and she pushed the offending strands out of her face.  Everything about her was beautiful right then and Ron wanted to kiss her.  Without the war looming over them, they were suddenly free to actually do those things, but the emotional state of their relationship had surpassed the physical state of it.  Since they first got together during the summer after sixth year Ron had done little more than lightly touch her; there simply hadn’t been any opportunities to do more.  Even though they didn’t have much of a physical relationship, Ron had been struggling over whether he was in love with her.  

Of course there were things about Hermione that Ron wished he could change:  the way she nagged him, the way she was _always_ right, or the way she harped on the treatment of house-elves.  Unfortunately for Ron, those were also things that he found endearing, which put him in a state of disbelief with himself, but it was true.  If she didn’t nag him, he’d never do his homework or eat his vegetables.  If she didn’t have to always be right, she wouldn’t have researched for days without sleep on ways to destroy the Horcruxes.  If she didn’t harp on the treatment of house-elves ...  Well, he actually couldn’t think of a good thing about that particular obsession of hers.  But the point was, Hermione took care of him, and Ron loved that she did.

Whether or not he was in love with her yet, he just wasn’t sure.  That concept was terribly confusing and he _did_ have the emotional range of a teaspoon.  In the past, Ron had always assumed he would tell Hermione he loved her right before they had sex.  He now realised that he would tell her sooner than they would ever have sex.

‘You almost look happy,’ he said.  Hermione raised her eyebrows in question and Ron clarified, ‘When you laugh.’

‘I feel almost happy.  That seems wrong, though, because of the funerals today, but I suppose everyone died a hero and they helped end the war.  We’re safe now because of them.  Safe to do whatever we want.’

‘Whatever we want?’

Hermione nodded.  ‘Of course we still have to rebuild magical Britain and—’

‘But we can still do whatever we want,’ interrupted Ron.

‘Well, yes, but—’

‘ _Whatever_ we want.’

‘Ron, what are you trying to say?’

He put his hand around the back of Hermione’s neck and pulled her to him, kissing her mouth.  With his other hand, he pushed on her back so that she lay on top of him, her knee between his legs.  She slipped her tongue into his mouth and ran it across his.  Ron couldn’t help himself and groaned in response.  

Sounds of wet kisses filled the room.  Hermione moved her legs so that she straddled his middle; not quite low enough for him to grind against her, but Ron didn’t mind.  It took almost all Ron’s courage to raise his hand to Hermione’s chest and graze it across her—

_Knock!  Knock!_

‘Ron, I need to – ohh, shit.’

Hermione ripped her mouth away from Ron’s and dove off him.  Her hands swiftly smoothed her hair and her shirt as she sat on the edge of the bed, breathing in and out very hard and fast.

Ron sat up quickly, catching the back of Harry’s unruly head of hair as it whirled around and bolted into the hallway.

‘You all right?’ Ron asked Hermione.  She turned her head to him and nodded, her cheeks blushing a fierce red.  

‘Just a little embarrassed,’ she answered, her blush deepening.

‘Harry,’ called Ron, ‘what the bloody hell d’you want?’

Harry peeked his head around through Ron’s doorway.  ‘Sorry,’ he said, looking rather embarrassed himself.  His shirt was tucked in again, Ron noted.  It was strange to see Harry’s smooth forehead.  Normally the lightening bolt-shaped scar cut into his upper brow.  If Harry were to walk down the street without the scar, how many people would actually recognise him now?  Probably enough for Harry to still want to dip underneath the radar.

‘It’s fine,’ said Hermione, her cheeks beginning to return to their normal colour and only slightly pink.  

‘Your mum and Lupin came back from St Mungo’s.’

‘So?’

‘I need to talk to you lot – and them – about … something.’

Ron raised his eyebrows.  ‘Something?’

‘Yeah.  So, can you come downstairs?’

‘We’ll be there in a moment, Harry,’ said Hermione.

Harry nodded and left, shutting the door behind him.

Hermione smoothed Ron’s hair for him.  Her hand moved down to his cheek and she ran her thumb back and forth across it.  The gesture was simple, but sweet, and Ron felt his lips curl up into a smile.

‘Let’s find out what Harry wants.  I bet your mum’s making dinner as well.  Come on.’

XXXXXXX

In the kitchen, Ron motioned for Hermione to sit down in his chair.  Mrs Weasley was at the sink, rinsing off a bunch of carrots that looked as though they were just pulled from the earth.  Lupin sat in George’s chair while Ginny sat in her usual, small one.  Harry wrung his hands together before clearing his throat, causing Mrs Weasley to turn around, a carrot held tightly in her hand.

‘You lot all know that I’m “dead.”  And I think it’s time I gather my stuff and move out—’

‘Oh, Harry, no!’ cried Mrs Weasley, dropping the carrot in the sink.  ‘You can stay here as long as you like.’

‘I know,’ said Harry, ‘and I haven’t even started _looking_ for a place, but in theory I can start as soon as I have a Secret Keeper.’

‘What?  Why?’ asked Ron, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘Well, if someone keeps the secret that I’m dead, and only the people in this room know, then you lot are the only ones who can see me, right?  Even if I’m out in public, in daylight.  Unless the Secret Keeper tells someone, no one can see me.  As long as one of you come with me while I look at houses or flats …’  Harry shrugged.  ‘Right?’

Ron’s eyes moved over to Lupin; everyone else seemed to be focusing on him as well.  He rubbed his chin with his hand and nodded.

‘That seems to be the theory, yes,’ answered Lupin.

‘Brilliant!  I don’t really know how to do the charm, though.’

‘Remus and I both do,’ said Molly.

‘Good.  Then, Mrs Weasley?  Will you be my Secret Keeper?’

Ron couldn’t help but roll his eyes as his mother beamed at Harry.  The depressed look in her eyes was momentarily replaced with happiness and pride.  Part of him was a bit surprised that Harry hadn’t asked him or Hermione to be his Secret Keeper, but it made sense for him to ask Mrs Weasley.  And after seeing the look on his mother’s face, Ron could hardly fault Harry for his decision.

‘We’ll do it after dinner, then,’ said Harry.

‘Ohh, Harry!’  Mrs Weasley dabbed at her eyes with the dishcloth that usually hung out of her apron pocket.  ‘Now just because you get Ron or Hermione to go visit flats with you doesn’t mean you have to move out next week.  It’s been so nice having you and Hermione stay here.  Almost like having a full house again.’  

The happy look was gone and Ron watched his mother’s face grow pale.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say—’

‘No, Mum,’ interrupted Ginny, ‘don’t be sorry.  I think we’re all glad to have a full house.  Besides, George said he’s moving back in when he gets out of St Mungo’s, yeah?  And I’m not going anywhere.  Well, not until September first, that is.  Hogwarts _is_ opening up, isn’t it?’ 

Hermione nodded.  ‘It is.’

‘My last baby’s going to her final year at Hogwarts!’

‘Oh, Mum, _please_ don’t cry.  I’m not a baby anymore anyway.’  Ginny tossed her hair behind her shoulder, exposing both her shoulders.  It was a move Lavender used to do, tossing her hair, showing off her slender neck.  If Ginny wasn’t dating his very best mate, Ron might have told her to stop acting like such a slag.  

Mrs Weasley sniffled as she went back to washing off the carrots.  After each carrot got clean, she set it on the cutting board where a charmed knife chopped it into small pieces.  She kept sniffling every few moments and had to excuse herself twice to the other room where everyone heard her blowing her nose and clearing her throat.  Then she would come back into the kitchen, wash her hands in the sink, and go back to making dinner.

Next to Hermione was the chair Charlie used to sit in.  Ron moved it over so that there was a space between Hermione and the empty chair.

‘Ron, what’re you doing?’ asked Ginny softly.

Ron didn’t answer.  He took his wand out of his pocket and pointed it at the stack of extra chairs against the wall.  He Summoned one of the chairs to him and put it in the space beside Hermione where he sat down.  His eyes looked over at Ginny.  Her eyes were flickering back and forth between all the empty chairs.  Ron could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she figured out that he didn’t want to sit in his dead brother’s chair, as the rest of their departed family’s chairs were left unoccupied.

Hermione reached her hand over and patted Ron’s thigh.  Ron took her hand and held it, giving it a small squeeze.  Touching Hermione, her skin next to his, gave him a sense of comfort and reassurance.  If he had his way, he’d never stop touching her.

Dinner was a quiet affair.  No one really spoke except to ask someone to pass the butter or the pepper.  Afterwards, Harry and Ginny went outside to play Quidditch, but Ron suspected that ‘playing Quidditch’ really meant ‘snogging until midnight.’

Hermione went home shortly after Ron had his second helping of pudding.  She told him if he needed her, for whatever reason, to send Pig to her house and she’d Apparate over.  Ron knew she was trying to be kind, in case his emotions got the better of him since he never really dealt with the deaths of his father and brothers, but he didn’t want to wake her up in the middle of the night.  

Upstairs, in his orange room much later that night, Ron lay on his bed in a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, using all his brain power to think about anything other than the funerals.  The emotions were quite overwhelming, threatening to suffocate him as they had while he sat at the funeral earlier in the day, listening to the Minister speak.

_‘Three weeks ago, one brave boy set out to fulfil a prophecy and killed He Who Shall Not Be Named.  Sitting in these two front rows are the brave witches and wizards who fought alongside that boy.  Behind me, are the brave ones who were killed during battle.  Their deaths haven’t been in vain!’_

Three weeks ago, Ron had had a purpose: to help end the war, to help Harry lead the way to freedom.  Now he had to keep the life of his best friend a secret.  Now he had to look at the empty chairs of his father and brothers at the kitchen table.  Now he didn’t have a job, and no purpose.  What was he supposed to do?  Quidditch was still a slight possibility, but Ron wanted to do something worthwhile.  He wanted to be an Auror, but in order to do that he needed to take the NEWTs, which were only given once a year.  

But right now, Ron was in limbo.  It was eating at his brain, trying to figure out what to do.  Hermione would know; Hermione knew everything.  Ron reached over to his bedside table and grabbed an old quill.  He sat up and crawled to the end of the bed and leaned over, opening his old school trunk and shuffling things around inside to find a blank piece of parchment.  It took a couple minutes, but he found one, rather wrinkled from being crumpled up under a pile of books.

Ron scribbled a partially legible note to Hermione and woke up Pig to send it.  Part of him was annoyed with himself because he hadn’t wanted to wake her up, but the other part of him knew that if he wanted to get any sleep tonight he’d have to have peace of mind.

It took about an hour, but Hermione Apparated into Ron’s room with a _crack_.

‘What’s wrong?’ she yawned out, rubbing her eyes with one hand while the other clutched her wand.  She hadn’t bothered with a dressing gown and wore a large blue tank-top with a pair of matching pyjama bottoms that went down to her mid-calves.  Her feet were shoved into some fluffy slippers.

‘I couldn’t sleep.’

‘Why not?’

‘I keep thinking about what I’m going to do with my life.’

Hermione blinked and narrowed her eyes.  ‘I thought you were having a problem or something.’

‘It is a problem.’

‘I meant an important problem, Ron.’

‘This _is_ an important problem.  What’s the point of our lives now?’

Hermione gave Ron her best confused face.  Her eyebrows knitted together and her lip curled to the side as her head tilted to the left.  Ron smiled; he loved her expression which he fondly thought of as Hermione’s ‘HUH?’ face, which he didn’t get to often see since she was so very clever.

‘The point of our lives?  To live!  That’s the point.’

‘Look, you’re clever so you’ll probably do something really brilliant and important—’

‘Ron, this doubting yourself thing is getting rather old.  Stop it.  You’re a very clever, good-looking bloke.  Stop acting as though you’re not.’

‘Sorry,’ mumbled Ron.

‘And if you’re going to get me up this late at night – or early in the morning – then have a better reason for it.’

‘All right,’ said Ron.  ‘How about this reason?  I want you here because I can’t sleep.’

‘Why can’t you sleep?’ asked Hermione slowly

‘Because I’m afraid if I sleep I’ll dream of _them_.  They’re, y’know, dead, but it feels rather like they’re on some sort of extended holiday.  I’d rather ignore the annoying fact that they’re dead, but I can’t.  And you can’t really control your dreams, right?’

Hermione shook her head.  ‘No, you can’t.  Why do you want me here?’

‘I’m hoping I can dream of you instead.’

Hermione’s cheeks turned slightly pink and she nodded.  ‘All right, I’ll stay.  I’m setting your alarm clock though so I can wake up in plenty of time to get home before my parents realise I’m missing and haven’t left them a note.  I don’t wish to worry them.’

Ron grinned.  ‘Lock the door,’ he said.

Hermione pointed her want at the door.  ‘ _Colloportus!_ ’  She turned to his bedside table and tapped his alarm clock, setting it to wake her up in a few hours.  

Watching Hermione get into his bed made Ron want to do things to her that he’d never done to anyone else before.  Of course his list of ‘anyone else’ only had one name on it.  Ron pushed those randy thoughts out of his head and slid into bed next to Hermione, moulding his body next to hers until every part of him that could touch her _was_ touching her.

‘Go to sleep, Ron,’ Hermione said.  ‘You’re going to be really’ – yawn – ‘tired in the morning.’

Ron smiled and breathed in the scent of her recently washed hair.  He fell asleep and dreamt of her, not wanting to wake up the next morning and face the harsh reality of the four empty chairs in his kitchen.

XXXXXXX

**To Be Continued …**

XXXXXXX

 


	3. Twenty-Four Rubber Ducks

XXXXXXX

**Chapter Three: Twenty-Four Rubber Ducks**

XXXXXXX

The next morning Mrs Weasley let her son sleep in. When Ron finally awoke it was almost noon and sunlight, in broken bands, flooded his room through the old blinds that covered the windows. He stretched his body, his muscles sore from sleeping in the same position all night. Hermione must have left very quietly because he didn’t remember waking up or hearing her as she Disapparated.

The Quidditch players on his Cannons posters zoomed around, tossing up Quaffles and grabbing at Snitches. For the first time Ron didn’t feel that twinge of jealousy as he watched the players. That’s what he used to want to do. He wanted to play Quidditch and have everyone chant his name, to have reporters want to interview him and countless girls want to date him. He experienced the former while at Hogwarts, but not the latter. Now, Ron knew he wasn’t interested in becoming a professional athlete. After Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup and changed the words to Malfoy’s awful ‘Weasley is Our King’ song, Ron had entertained the thought of being a Keeper if he didn’t get accepted into the Auror program.

Now he wanted something more out of life.

The newspapers called him a hero. Said he flew into battle without so much as a thought for himself, his only concern being the freedom of the wizarding world. Ron wasn’t so sure that was entirely true. He hadn’t really thought about much of anything while he was fighting. He didn’t want to die; he wanted to protect Hermione and Harry so that Harry could go straight to Voldemort and kill him. 

It was nice being called a hero and Ron wanted to live up to those headlines. Mrs Weasley clipped them all and put them in a drawer in the kitchen. She had every story about what heroes her sons were and what a proud fighter her husband was. Ron had caught her, with tears in her eyes and one hand clutching onto a handkerchief, looking through the articles. He quickly stepped out of the kitchen, not wanting to intrude on his mother’s private mourning - nor did he want to somehow get drawn into conversation about the articles, either.

He wasn’t ready for that yet.

Ron yawned and rubbed his eyes; they stung slightly from the bright sunlight. He blindly reached over to his bedside table and felt around for his wand. Once he found it, he pointed it at the blinds and they all shut, blocking out the light. His eyes felt better, but he still needed to move and get out of bed. Ron lay there, not wanting to move, but then his stomach rumbled loudly in protest.

_Get up, get up,_ he told himself. As he sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed, his eyes caught a glimpse of something sitting atop his alarm clock. It was a piece of parchment with curly letters written across it in very straight lines. The handwriting was pristine; the only person that perfect was Hermione.

_Ron,_

_I am glad you were able to fall asleep. I’m spending time with my parents today, doing some shopping and going out for dinner. If you are able to make it for dinner, Apparate to the Leaky Cauldron at six. My parents express an interest in getting to know you better. Don’t get stressed about it! It is a good thing! If you cannot make it, I understand. You need to be there for your family and Harry if they need you at home. I do hope to see you, but I understand if you have to stay home. I hope you can fall asleep tonight, but if you can’t, don’t hesitate to send me an owl. Although, please send Hedwig this time. Pig nearly woke up my parents zooming around my bedroom._

_Much Love From,_

_Hermione._

_P.S. You snore adorably._

Ron snorted. Adorably? Hermione was nutters. He folded the note in half and threw it inside the drawer of his bedside table. It landed amongst other random bits of parchment and leftover sweets from his brothers’ Skiving Snackboxes. Ron stood and shuffled his way through the door, into the hallway, and down the stairs.

In the kitchen, Ginny had a magazine in front of her and a look of intense concentration on her face. His mother sat across from her, four cookbooks opened on the table, her eyes flickering back and forth between each of them. The room still smelled of bacon and toast. The breeze that filtered through the open windows brought in the scents of a summer morning at The Burrow: leftover rain on the grass, freshly bloomed flowers, dirt kicked up by running garden gnomes. Those smells were less apparent than normal since it was hardly morning anymore.

‘Finally decided to move your arse, did you?’ said Ginny, continuing to look through the glossy pages of what Ron suspected was _Witch Weekly_.

‘Usually someone wakes me up,’ complained Ron. ‘Is there any bacon left?’

‘Lunch is in an hour. If you want food before then, you can make it yourself,’ said Mrs Weasley.

Ron frowned but went to the cupboard and looked through the food inside.

‘I figured Hermione would have woken you up before she left,’ commented Ginny.

Ron froze, his eyes focused on a bag of blue powder that, when added to vegetable broth, turned into stew. 

‘What makes you say that?’

‘I saw her in your room this morning. Harry and I were going to go for a fly before breakfast. He suggested we invite you to come along.’

‘Where is Harry?’

‘Out in Dad’s shed.’

Ron seized the opportunity to dip out of what could turn into a very uncomfortable conversation with his mother and sister about having a girl spend the night in his room. He all but ran out of the kitchen and across the grass to the shed. He was still barefoot and the grass was short enough that it prickled the bottoms of his feet. 

The shed was old, the paint peeling and several of the windows broken. On the door used to be a Muggle padlock, but it had been broken for years. The door itself didn’t shut all the way and the tables inside were lopsided. Plugs, wires, and batteries were divided by colour up into groups on the tables. The largest group was in the middle, made up of copper toned wires and batteries. There were large chests and boxes everywhere, organised in haphazard order. Ron had no idea what was inside them. He never bothered to find out.

Sitting on one of the boxes and looking thoroughly distressed was Harry Potter. He still didn’t have clothes that fit well; Mrs Weasley tried to get him to go shopping with her last summer, but he always refused and ended up having to borrow clothes over the past year from each of the Weasley brothers as his kept getting torn and destroyed during their adventures searching for the Horcruxes.

‘Enjoy your fly this morning?’ asked Ron, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe and crossing his arms over his chest.

Harry looked up. ‘What?’

‘Your fly with Ginny? Or is that just what you call groping my sister?’

‘Shut it, Ron. We flew over the woods and back. _Then_ I groped your sister.’

Harry said it so matter-of-factly and with such a straight face that Ron had a notion to go pummel him. But, then, laughter erupted from his throat. He couldn’t be angry with Harry for that. He _wanted_ Harry to date his sister. They were good for one another and despite all their trying, Ron and Hermione could never make Harry smile the way Ginny could.

‘So, you’re not angry at me anymore?’

‘Oh, I’m still angry,’ said Ron, ‘but I’d rather be holed up in this shed than listen to those two talk at me.’

‘Yeah, your mum was a bit fussed about Hermione staying in your room. She hopes your father gave you the special Weasley talk and if not, she was going to Floo Bill right over to have it with you instead.’

Ron rolled his eyes. His father _had_ given him the ‘special Weasley talk.’ It was embarrassing and when it was over, Ron wasn’t sure whose face was more red, his father’s or his. Weasleys reproduced without trying. Pregnancy happened a lot - well, obviously with seven children. Mr Weasley had to make sure Ron knew all of this before he got ‘too involved’ with his girlfriend. 

‘What’re you doing in here?’

‘Fight,’ said Harry. ‘With Ginny.’ He rested an elbow on his thigh and put his chin in his right hand. The left fiddled with a hole in the knee of his jeans.

That would explain the distressed look on Harry’s face. 

‘About what?’

‘I can’t tell _you_.’

‘Why the bloody hell not?’

Harry shrugged. ‘Dunno. I think it’s in the rulebook or something that brothers are always supposed to side with their sisters and beat up the boyfriend if something goes wrong.’

‘Aw,’ mocked Ron, ‘is she your _girlfriend_ now? That’s so sweet I could choke.’ 

‘Don’t be an arse,’ said Harry, although his tone was light, and he picked something off the ground and chucked it at Ron. 

Ron ducked and laughed loudly. It felt good to be friends with Harry again. Neither of them would talk about it, just as they had never spoken about their fight in fourth year since they made up.

Ron turned around and looked at the object Harry threw. It was small and squishy. Yellow. It looked like a duckling. 

‘What is this?’

‘It’s a rubber duck,’ answered Harry. ‘Haven’t you ever seen one before?’

Ron shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Is it a toy?’

‘Kids put them in their baths to play with. They don’t really have a point except to float around in the bubbles.’

Ron studied the duck for a moment, giving it a squeeze. It squeaked loudly and Ron dropped it on the ground. 

‘What the fuck was that?’

‘It squeaked, Ron. It didn’t grow fangs and try to attack you,’ said Harry, standing up and picking the duck up. ‘Your dad collected some really weird shit. What’s in all these boxes?’

‘Dunno. I never looked through them. I mean, it was my dad’s weird Muggle-obsession. Mum never let him keep anything in the house, y’know. She thought he might blow the house up before the twins with all those wires and things. I think some of this stuff he nicked from work when he had to go smooth stuff over with the Muggles. I know he had some house keys that used to dance around the kitchen table. And wizards don’t need keys when we have wands and all.’

‘Would he care if we looked through these boxes?’

‘What, you think he’s gonna come back from the grave and yell at me for opening up a few boxes patched up with Spellotape?’

Harry looked dumbstruck and opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

‘What?’

Harry closed his mouth and shook his head.

‘ _What_?’ Ron asked again.

‘Nothing. Just can’t believe you said that.’

Ron blinked a few times and then looked away. He hadn’t meant it the way it came out, but, really, his father was dead. What would happen if they looked through his stuff? The worst would be Mrs Weasley yelling at them, but Ron doubted she’d come into the shed anyhow.

‘I didn’t want to talk about Cedric or Sirius or Dumbledore. So I’m not going to make you talk about this. Neither of us wants to have _that_ conversation. I’ll leave that up to Hermione.’

‘Thanks,’ said Ron, not able to sound as grateful as he truly was. ‘Can you open one of these boxes with your wand? I left mine in my room.’

Harry took his wand out of the back pocket of his jeans. He pointed it at the box he’d been sitting on and cut the tape. Both boys knelt down and peered into the box. It was full of cut-up Muggle newspapers. 

‘“ _Exploding Toilet Bandit Strikes Again_ ”,’ read Harry. 

‘That sounds like one of the cases Dad worked on,’ said Ron. He silently read the article headings to himself. It didn’t take him long to realise they were mostly from cases his dad’s department had gone to straighten out while others were happenings that the Ministry had been forced to get involved in. They looked through the newspapers silently, passing the more humorous titles back and forth. Ron’s knees grew tired of kneeling so he sat down on the dirt, brushing the earth off his pyjama bottoms.

‘So ...’ said Harry. ‘How was having Hermione stay the night, then? Oh, “ _Disappearing Apple Trees Afflict Manchester_ ”.’

‘Hermione’s stayed the night loads of times.’

‘Not in your room.’

‘“ _Talking Lawn Gnomes Terrorise London Street_ ”.’

‘Even when we were going after the Horcruxes you never spent the night with her in a room without me in it.’

‘We didn’t have sex, if you really want to know.’

‘No, I didn’t really want to know,’ said Harry, making a face. 

‘You weren’t even curious?’

‘“ _Infectious Laughter Sends Whole Town to Hospital_ ”. No, I suppose I was a little curious. Just because.’

‘Well, we haven’t.’

‘All right.’

‘It would be weird to go into any detail with this, right?’

Harry nodded. ‘Probably.’

‘I mean, we’ve both had experience, yeah? You and my sister - which I am going to pretend isn’t really happening - and me with Lavender and Hermione. Though, mostly Lavender.’

‘I’d like to pretend that Lavender never happened so we can both just live happily in denial.’

Ron sniggered. ‘Right. Good plan. I’ll pretend Lavender never happened either.’

‘And we both know _Hermione_ pretends Lavender never happened. “ _Moviegoers Experience Nine Hour Time Loss_ ”.’

‘Seamus and Dean used to tell us all the details about their girlfriends,’ said Ron, remembering back to the days where the five of them used to sit around the boys’ dormitory, eating sweets from Honeydukes and drinking Firewhisky hidden inside bottles of pumpkin juice. Seamus and Dean tried to outdo one another, telling all about the girls they had gore off to snog with over the summers and holidays. It wasn’t until Dean proudly announced at the beginning of seventh year that he had officially ‘bagged his first bird’ over the summer that Ron realised just how much he hadn’t done with Lavender. And a good thing too, because she cried enough when they broke up. He didn’t need to have her crying over him calling their experiences ‘bagging a bird’.

‘Yeah. I never had much to say on the subject.’

‘Not even with Cho?’

Harry shook his head. ‘Definitely not. All she ever did was cry. Right annoying, that is. Though, I don’t think I really helped the situation. I was rubbish with girls.’

‘Looks like you still are if you’re having fights with Ginny. “ _Local Shop-owner Claims to Sell Genuine Self-Loading Rifles_ ”.’

‘Stupid fight, that. She didn’t want your mum to perform the Fidelius Charm.’

‘But you did anyway?’

‘Not yet,’ said Harry. ‘She stormed out of the room and then I came out here. I don’t want anyone to know I’m alive. I can’t really explain it.’

‘Try,’ said Ron, beginning to feel annoyed with Harry again over his ‘death’.

Harry put down the newspaper in his hand and rubbed his eyes. ‘I lost a year with your sister,’ he began. ‘She could hardly have come with us since she couldn’t do magic outside of Hogwarts. She’s clever, but I don’t think she could have helped me the way you and Hermione could. Besides, she threw herself into researching things for Hermione when we were all gone so she _did_ help.’

‘Harry,’ interrupted Ron, ‘I know all this shit already.’

‘Right. Well, I lost a year with her. And, really, I lost seventeen years with my parents and those years I’ll never get back. I lived in a cupboard with the Dursleys for eleven years. Then as soon as I went to Hogwarts I had to start fighting for my life and trying not to get killed. It seems like I haven’t been able to quite live my life the way I want to live it. I’ve always had something in my fucking way. Voldemort mainly, but the Dursleys didn’t really help. Now I can do what I want and live without people bothering me. In a few months I can actually pick up a newspaper without seeing my name somewhere in it. D’you understand the sort of freedom I have now?’

‘You realise that you’re going to be pretty lonely if you can never make another friend again without my mother telling them you’re alive first? No one wants to be friends with a dead bloke.’

‘You’re friends with a dead bloke. “ _Book Attacks Group of Students at Highgate Day School_ ”.’

‘So you never with Ginny?’

‘Never what?’

Ron didn’t answer the question. ‘“ _Pencil Writes Term Paper for University Student_ ”.’

‘When d’you think I would’ve had time for that?’

‘After you get married, I hope.’

‘Oh, don’t hand me that shit, Ron,’ said Harry with a laugh. ‘You’re acting like you never came close with Lavender or something. Waiting until marriage? When have you ever thought about _that_?’

‘Well, I haven’t,’ admitted Ron. ‘And I _was_ close with Lavender, but not really. I never would have let myself do that. I felt guilty for things I let her do anyway. Well, not at first, but later. Of course once I started ignoring her we didn’t do much of anything anymore.’

‘You didn’t ignore her – you _hid_ from her.’

‘She was suffocating me!’

‘You spend far more time with Hermione than you ever did with Lavender and never whinge about her.’

Ron chose to ignore Harry’s statement. Instead he asked, ‘D’you think you’re gonna go through with the Fidelius Charm?’

‘Dunno. I might hold off for a bit until I see just how angry Ginny is going to get over it. There’re only a couple weeks before she goes back to school and I won’t get to see her. I’d rather not have her hacked off before she leaves.’

‘You can visit her, can’t you?’

‘Sure, at Hogsmeade visits.’

‘Too bad you can’t teach or something.’

‘It’s too soon,’ said Harry, ‘but as long as I’m dating Ginny, McGonagall wouldn’t let me anyway. She practically told me that towards the end of last term. She asked if I still wanted to be an Auror. I said I didn’t know what I wanted to do, but after the DA I thought teaching might be rather fun. She shot down that idea, though.’

Ron sniggered again.

‘Say, Ron? I know we’ve never been quite like Seamus and Dean and telling each other about girls, but ...’

‘But what, Harry?’

‘Nothing. Never mind.’

‘You’re not going to get mushy on me, are you?’ asked Ron, giving Harry a disgusted look.

‘No, don’t be an idiot. Is there anything else in the box?’

‘No, I think that’s the last of the newspapers.’

Harry nodded. He waved his wand and sent all the clippings back inside the box. Ron pulled another one towards him and set it on his lap. It was small and covered in tape. The bottom part of the box looked as though it had been stained with water. Harry waved his wand again and cut the tape off the box.

Ron opened it and looked inside. Without being able to help himself, he laughed again. Using his hands to dig around inside the box, Ron counted each item.

‘What’s in there?’ asked Harry.

Ron tilted the box so Harry could look inside.

‘Twenty-four rubber ducks,’ he answered. When they both looked up at one another, they began to laugh.

XXXXXXX

After lunch, Harry and Ginny went for a walk. Ron knew how that walk would likely end so he stayed clear of the back garden and by the lake. As much as he truly didn’t mind his best mate dating his sister, he didn’t want to _see_ them doing those typical dating-type-things.

Going back upstairs to his bedroom, Ron looked at his reflection in the mirror above his chest of drawers. It was a fairly small mirror, but was quite snarky, always telling him to fix his hair or tuck in his shirt.

On his chin was a very light stubble. His facial hair had never come in as bright red as his hair had. It almost looked blonde, though last summer Hermione had commented how the sun really lightened up his hair, so perhaps his facial hair wasn’t so oddly coloured after all.

Hermione never asked him to shave, though he usually did anyway. For some reason he felt too old with too much hair, like a true adult. He had had to act as one when the three of them were completely on their own, hunting Horcruxes and fending for themselves, but now he had the chance to be an eighteen-year-old bloke again. Whenever he didn’t shave, Hermione would lightly rub her fingers across his cheeks and chin and smile to herself. Ron had no idea why stubble would make anyone smile, but sometimes he purposefully left it alone just to see that smile cross Hermione’s face.

Looking at the hairs poking out of his chin, Ron just couldn’t decide if he should shave or not. He told his mother he was going to visit some friends at the Leaky Cauldron for dinner. She didn’t press the issue too much, but Ron didn’t want to hear her squeal over him meeting Hermione’s parents for dinner.

He’d met them before, of course, but never as Hermione’s _boyfriend_. Always as Hermione’s tall, lanky friend with the crazy family and Muggle-obsessed father. This was something very new to him. He hadn’t had to meet Lavender’s parents, thank Merlin, so he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to act. The Dursleys didn’t deserve his respect so treating them with kindness was hardly an issue. Otherwise, the adults he had frequent contact with were professors. Did he interact with the Grangers the same way he interacted with McGonagall or Sprout?

In the note, Hermione told him not to get stressed out. He was beyond stressed out now. What sort of clothes did one wear to meet the parents? It would have to be Muggle clothes in case they didn’t stay to eat at the Leaky Cauldron. Oh, _crap_ , what if Hermione took him to a real Muggle restaurant? Did Muggles eat the same foods as wizards? Did they have chocolate pudding at the end of dinner? 

Ron flopped down on his bed. This was stupid. Why should he be stressed out? Hermione’s parents liked him before. They thought he was funny, which he was, although usually in a very sarcastic way. No, this meal would be easy. Ron just had to convince himself that everything would go smoothly and work out for the best. 

He knew he couldn’t worry about little things, like not having a job or not having his own house. He was _eighteen_. He was young. There would be plenty of time to really prove to the Grangers that he was right for their daughter. This wasn’t a meeting for them to assess if he was proper marriage material. This was simply a meeting for them to get to know the boyfriend a little bit better. Nothing to stress out about.

Laughing to himself, Ron knew there was no amount of reassurance he could give himself to make him any less nervous, but Hermione was going to be a part of his life for years to come and one dinner wouldn’t change that. 

Ron set his alarm clock to go off at five o’clock. That would give him plenty of time to shower and find something decent to wear before Apparating to the Leaky Cauldron.

XXXXXXX

Fred and George had always told him that a couple shots of Firewhisky could calm down the most nervous of men. Right now Ron wished he could start drinking. His palms were sweaty and he couldn’t keep his leg from shaking. After his shower, he’d chosen a green polo shirt and a pair of jeans without any rips or holes. He’d used up all his time deciding between jeans and khaki trousers, but opted to look more casual, hoping that would also help him feel more comfortable. 

The Leaky Cauldron was busy and Ron sat down at the corner of the bar, hoping no one recognised him. The pub and restaurant was very loud, everyone’s conversations melding together, becoming one large roar of noise. Trays filled with plates of food levitated to the tables. Once the witches and wizards took their meals, the empty trays would rise into the air again and go back behind two swinging doors into the kitchen. It made for a very busy scene.

Ron spotted Hermione and her parents coming in from the Diagon Alley entrance before the barkeeper had a chance to come over and ask him if he wanted a drink. He hadn’t remembered Hermione’s father looking quite so big. Even from the distance, Ron estimated he was almost as tall as him, but much thicker and stronger. Suddenly wanting to hide, Ron hoped her father wouldn’t have any excuse after dinner to use that strength.

As soon as Hermione spotted him, she immediately sifted her way through the crowd to meet him. Ron stood up and wanted to kiss her when she drew near, but knew her parents were watching so he just looked at her instead. Hermione grinned at him and took his hand. 

‘Don’t be nervous,’ she whispered. ‘It’s only dinner.’

‘Right.’

Before her parents managed to get to the bar, three wizards cut them off and immediately began asking Ron and Hermione questions.

‘What did it feel like to fight against You Know Who?’

‘Are you _really_ heroes?’

‘My daughter fancies you. Will you autograph this for me?’

Ron groaned. The wizards were all adults; they had grey hair, long beards, and expensive-looking robes. Their wands were tucked neatly inside silver and gold carrying cases. These wizards were cultured. They knew better than to question them. 

‘Did you see Harry Potter die?’

‘What was that like?’

‘I heard you didn’t go to the funeral.’

‘I read that in the _Daily Prophet_.’

Ron held on to Hermione’s hand more tightly and said, ‘Let’s leave.’

She nodded and pointed to the door that emptied out into the London street. Her parents took the hint and headed out of the Leaky Cauldron. Ron and Hermione had to quickly make their exit, dodging questions and pushing parchment and quills out of their way. 

Once outside, Hermione pulled Ron down the sidewalk, her parents following. She didn’t stop until the Leaky Cauldron was out of view. Ron could hear the tapping of Mrs Granger’s high heeled shoes against the pavement behind him. Mr Granger’s walk was more of a shuffle and he kept clearing his throat with little coughs.

‘Good grief,’ said Mrs Granger when they all had stopped walking, ‘is it always like that when you’re out?’

Hermione shook her head. ‘No one bothered me when I was in the bookstore.’ She looked up at Ron. ‘I think we’re more noticeable when we’re together.’

‘Probably. When d’you think it’ll die down?’

Hermione shrugged. ‘I wish I knew.’

‘Bloody annoying, that was.’ 

Mr Granger laughed and Ron suddenly realised what he had said. The heat rose to the back of his neck and he prayed that his ears weren’t turning red.

‘Does this mean we can eat in one of _our_ restaurants instead?’

‘Sure, Dad,’ said Hermione. ‘I know that’s what you wanted to do in the first place.’

Mr Granger grinned. He held out his hand to Ron. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

Ron had to let go of Hermione to shake her father’s hand. ‘Same here. Are you still putting dams in people’s mouths?’

Mr Granger laughed loudly again. ‘Dams? I think you mean bridges.’

‘Oh, right. I knew it was something like that. Bridges and hats?’

‘Crowns.’

‘Bridges and crowns,’ repeated Ron. ‘Right.’

‘Hermione reminds us all the time that our work is boring,’ said Mrs Granger.

‘Oh, I do not!’ Hermione denied.

‘We won’t make you listen to boring things like cleaning teeth or anything else like that. We’re sure you don’t know anything about dentistry anyway.’

‘Well, I _do_ brush my teeth, but that’s about all I know about teeth. Except once my brother gave me some orange rose leaves and they stained my teeth orange and green for a week.’

Mr Granger laughed again. Ron wondered if his humour was on target tonight or if Hermione’s dad was trying to be polite.

‘There’s a charming pasta place two streets over,’ Hermione’s mum said. ‘Why don’t we go there? Your father always has to buy a bottle of their house wine. The owners have a vineyard somewhere in Italy and make it themselves.’

‘That sounds lovely, Mum.’

Hermione allowed her parents to lead the way. She stayed several feet back and retook Ron’s hand in hers. 

‘I’m glad you came,’ she whispered. ‘My parents wanted to meet you the first opportunity they had.’

‘They’ve met me before.’

Hermione smiled. ‘It’s not the same.’

‘Right.’

‘You made my dad laugh! You can’t still possibly be nervous, can you? They like you. My mum has always said she thinks you’re rather handsome.’

Ron wanted to laugh. Rather handsome? That was quite a compliment. Mrs Granger reminded Ron of Madam Rosmerta, only not as top-heavy. Her hair was pulled back in much the same way, messy but purposefully so. She was quite attractive and looked a lot Hermione. For some reason, Ron had always liked the way mature women looked. They had a confidence and air about them that girls didn’t have. It took Hermione several years to grow into the face and body she had now, which was very pretty in Ron’s opinion. If she continued to age this way, then Ron could see her looking much like her mum, still young in the eyes, but with laugh lines around her mouth that told the truth about her real age.

‘Have you ever been to a Muggle restaurant, Ron?’

‘No.’

‘They don’t have pumpkin juice.’

‘Oh.’

‘Or Firewhisky or Butterbeer.’

‘Right.’ Ron paused. ‘So what do I drink?’

‘Plain coke?’

‘What is that?’

‘You’ll like it. When the waiter comes by and asks what we all want to drink, tell him plain coke, all right?’

Ron nodded. ‘Are you _sure_ they don’t have pumpkin juice?’

Hermione stopped walking. She glanced at her parents, who continued towards a restaurant at the end of the street with tables outside covered with red tablecloths.

‘Why’d you stop?’

‘My parents’ll get us a table.’ Hermione kept her eyes on them until they disappear inside the small restaurant. She turned her face towards Ron and smiled. ‘I’m sure they don’t have pumpkin juice.’

‘You stopped walking to tell me that?’

Hermione laughed. ‘No, silly.’ She put her hands around his neck and pulled him down towards her. ‘I stopped so I could kiss you.’

They’d never kissed in public before. It gave Ron a rush of tingly feelings throughout his body. Her lips were soft and light on his, and even though the kiss was chaste, Ron couldn’t help but feel turned-on. When Hermione pulled away, Ron opened his eyes. He breathed through his mouth and couldn’t help but glance down; Hermione’s white v-neck shirt was cut just low enough that he could see the tops of her breasts and the dark crevice of her cleavage. Being taller than her had a great advantage right there.

‘That’s a great shirt.’

Hermione rolled her eyes playfully and walked down the sidewalk towards the restaurant.

Inside, the tables had candles in the middle and baskets of bread and butter. Most wizard restaurants were dimmer than this one, but Ron still had to adjust his eyes to the lack of light. They sat at a booth near a piano where an older man played songs that were familiar to Mr and Mrs Granger, but completely lost on Ron. The silverware was rolled up inside red cloth napkins, the same colour as the tablecloths. It was the sort of place Ron would have thought to be for couples, but as he looked around him, families and groups of friends sat around at the tables. He chalked it up to the Muggle world being different from the one he was used to.

Dinner went smoothly. Ron didn’t feel as though he was there to be judged or interviewed. Hermione’s parents asked him questions about the wizarding world, but skipped over anything involving his family or the war. They asked him about school and his professors. Ron found himself returning the questions, quite intrigued over how Muggles did things. He never thought to ask Hermione about things in such detail because she knew magic better than he did, but the fact that her parents had a machine that cleaned their dirty dishes for them was pure madness. He asked them if they knew how airplanes stayed up in the air, but they laughed and said there was just some things even they didn’t know. That was slightly disappointing; for some reason, Ron had really hoped they would know the answer because it seemed to important to find out since his father had always been fascinated with how airplanes flew.

At the end of the meal, Hermione insisted on ordering chocolate pudding and shared it with Ron. When her hand wasn’t holding her fork, it was resting on Ron’s thigh in a reassuring manner. Hermione’s father paid the tab, even though Ron tried to at least pay for his own meal. The four of them went outside to the sidewalk. It was officially night time and the air was still, the sky dark, and the moon shining brightly. 

‘It was good to see you, Ron,’ said Mr Granger. 

‘Yes,’ agreed Mrs Granger. ‘I hope you come with Hermione one weekend when she comes to visit us at our beach house.’

Ron was surprised at the invitation, but smiled and nodded. 

‘The car’s a few streets away,’ said Mr Granger, looking at his daughter.

‘I’ll walk with Ron back to the Leaky Cauldron. He has to Apparate home and he can’t do it out in the open. I’ll Apparate later. You two go on home.’

Mr Granger narrowed his eyes but nodded and put his arm around his wife’s shoulders as they turned and walked away.

‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’ asked Hermione.

Ron shook his head. ‘No, not really.’

‘Now you’ll have to come to the beach when I go.’

‘Sure,’ said Ron, although his tone was noncommittal. ‘I never noticed how much like your mum you look.’

‘I have my dad’s hair and eye colour,’ said Hermione. ‘Did you like my parents?’

‘I’ve met them before.’

‘I know ...’

Ron nodded. ‘Yes, I liked them. They’re nice.’

‘I think they really liked you.’

‘Didn’t they like me before?’

‘I suppose,’ said Hermione, ‘but it’s different now, isn’t it?’

‘Is it?’

Hermione sighed. ‘You don’t understand--’

‘I understand perfectly,’ said Ron. ‘When we were friends it didn’t matter if they liked me. But _now_ it matters. Your parents are a bit nutters, though, fixing people’s teeth. I reckon it’s not the most exciting job to have.’

‘They like it, but I wouldn’t. I need something more intellectually challenging.’

Ron smiled. ‘You’re such a bookworm.’

‘Come on, we need to get to Diagon Alley. I’m tired.’ Hermione began to walk back towards the Leaky Cauldron. ‘Are you going to be able to fall asleep tonight?’

‘I don’t know. I’m not tired. I might need you to help me _get_ tired.’

‘Ron!’ cried Hermione in a scandalous tone, but the smile on her face suggested she wasn’t altogether annoyed by his comment.

Ron stopped walking. He breathed in deeply, getting whiffs of the scents from the different restaurants on the street. Hermione took a few steps backwards and stood in front of Ron. Her eyes looked up at him; they were round and a deep brown. A slow breeze picked up, moving the hair away from Hermione’s face.

‘Hey,’ said Ron, ‘were you worried your parents wouldn’t like me?’

‘No, why would I be?’

‘They could have disapproved or something.’

‘I knew they wouldn’t. You’re such a sweet man. I knew they would see that.’

Hermione had just called him a _man_. Ron wanted to smile, but he forced himself not to. This was a very serious conversation they were having and his silly antics had no place here.

‘Are you really tired?’

‘A bit,’ answered Hermione. ‘Why? Do you want me to come over? We could get started studying for NEWTs.’

‘Oi, Hermione! You’re killing me! I am definitely not thinking about any ruddy tests.’

‘Professor McGonagall came to my house today,’ said Hermione, wetting her lips. 

‘What?’

‘She asked me to come work at Hogwarts. There’s a shortage of professors at the moment and the enrolment is very small again. It’ll only be for the year until I can take my NEWTs and apply for a job with the Ministry. Professor McGonagall said she’s not concerned that I haven’t taken my tests and wants me to teach Defence _and_ Transfiguration. I’m not nearly as good as her, but she has enough work being Headmistress. She’ll teach the OWL and NEWT level classes, but I’ll take the first- through third-years.’

‘Is this good news?’

‘It’s a job. I can use the Hogwarts library while I study for the NEWTs. I think it’s good news. Don’t you?’

‘Sure,’ said Ron, although he wasn’t sure if it really was or not. They’d had to put their physical relationship on hold for a year. And now, in less than a month, Hermione wanted to put _another_ hold on it while she went to Hogwarts? Ron wanted her to take the job, he really did. He knew she’d be really great at teaching; she was so clever and always helped him with his homework so that he understood. Something inside of him wanted to remain selfish and wanted her to stay with him.

‘Well you certainly cannot act any more supportive than you are right now,’ snapped Hermione in the most sarcastic tone Ron had ever heard from her as she crossed her arms over her chest.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I was just thinking about what you said. It’s great, really.’

‘Don’t sound so happy about it.’

‘I am happy for you.’ Ron sighed. ‘I just wish you weren’t going to go away.’

‘You make it sound as though I’m leaving indefinitely. There are job openings in Hogsmeade.’

‘Hogsmeade barely exists.’

‘They’re looking for people to rebuild, to go through the rubbish and debris and salvage things that can be saved and then rebuild the shops and restaurants.’

‘Really?’ 

Hermione nodded. ‘You could stay in a flat there. I’m fairly certain there are several that weren’t destroyed. I would come visit and we could spend the weekends together. I told Professor McGonagall I would probably try to help with the rebuilding if I could. Parts of Hogwarts were damaged during the war as well and need to be patched up and fixed. It’ll take several months to clean up and rebuild Hogsmeade, even _with_ magic.’

Ron’s ears were picking up Hermione’s voice but he was hardly listening to her. He’d stopped as soon as she told him they could spend the weekends together. If he had his own flat that would open up a whole new chamber of possibilities for their relationship, none of which seemed bad. Thinking about the things they could finally get to do made Ron want her all the more _right then_.

As though possessed by all his randy feelings, Ron kissed Hermione hard, taking no mind of the people walking past them. She seemed to melt into him, pressing her body against his. After only a few seconds, Hermione pushed him back, breathing in deeply as though she was trying to catch her breath.

‘ _Ron_.’

‘Sorry. Why don’t you come over. We’ll finish things there.’

Hermione shook her head. ‘No, your sister saw me this morning, I think, as I was getting ready to Apparate back home.’

‘So? Just leave as soon as I fall asleep.’

‘That’s a bit selfish, don’t you think?’

‘When your parents go off for their holiday, I’ll come over whenever you want me to.’

Hermione’s eyes seemed to be focused on his mouth. She blushed when she noticed he was staring at her.

‘Okay,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll come over, but _only_ for an hour.’

Ron grinned. ‘Great!’ 

Somehow he knew that she would stay for much longer than an hour, but after everything they had gone through the past year, they deserved a little private time. Ron walked as quickly as he dared back towards the Leaky Cauldron, his hand holding Hermione’s. Even if he sprinted, Ron didn’t think he could get there fast enough. The need to kiss and touch her was overwhelming. For the first time in the past few weeks, Ron was actually excited to go home.

XXXXXXX

**To Be Continued ...**

XXXXXXX

 


	4. One More Rain

XXXXXXX

**Chapter Four: One More Rain**

XXXXXXX

The Leaky Cauldron was still busy when Ron and Hermione slipped through the London-side entrance. They dodged their way through the crowd, ducking past shouted questions and excited shouts. Ron knew he needed a quiet place to Apparate, otherwise he might splinch himself and leave behind something far more important than an eyebrow. 

A light mist encased the streets of Diagon Alley, giving the evening a blurry and frosted appearance. Ron would be glad when the awful rainy weather stopped; it always seemed to make everything go in slow motion. The minutes ambled on by while he tried to find something to entertain him since he couldn’t do anything outdoors, which was enough to drive Ron mad as his attention span was minute. Luckily now, though, Hermione was coming over to The Burrow to keep him entertained.

As Ron and Hermione quickly walked down the street they looked for a quiet alleyway, away from prying eyes, to dip into so they could Disapparate. Many of the stores were still abandoned; the windows that weren’t boarded up were bare of displays. The wizarding street looked desolate and if it wasn’t for the Leaky Cauldron, would probably look completely abandoned. A few stores remained - namely the joke shop and the bookstore. The sign for Ollivander’s had been torn down and lay on the street in a puddle slowly growing bigger from the rain. The front of the old ice cream parlour was still in disarray, chairs rusted to the ground with their upturned legs perfectly spaced for spider webs that sparkled with rain drops like diamonds. The passage that led to Knockturn Alley appeared pitch black, as though nothing was even down that way, and a cold chill ran down Ron’s spine as they passed it.

Hermione tugged on Ron’s hand and pulled him into a seemingly empty alley.

‘We can Apparate from here,’ she said, turning to face Ron, her cheeks very rosy.

He nodded and looked at her shirt again. She should wear v-necks more often. 

‘ _Weasley_ ,’ a deep voice said through the thickening rain.

Ron groaned. ‘Fuck,’ he muttered. ‘Another reporter. I’m getting right tired of this, y’know.’

Hermione shook her head, looking behind Ron’s shoulder at the owner of the raspy voice. 

‘I don’t think it’s a reporter, Ron.’

Ron turned his head around and looked at the wizard standing there before moving his body to face him as well. The wizard was stout, although not short, with the looks of a five-day-old brown beard and long hair streaked with silver. His nose was fat, his green eyes set wide apart, and his lips thin and filmy. With his jaw set, the wizard looked slightly crazed, and Ron instinctively took a step to the left to stand directly in front of Hermione.

‘Whudda you want?’ asked Ron, reaching his hand back to his pocket to touch his wand. He felt Hermione pull his wand out and place it in his hand.

‘I wanted to speak with you at the funeral, but you left before I had the chance to request a chat.’

Ron blinked. ‘What? Who are you?’

‘Beau Macmillan.’

From behind him, Ron heard Hermione’s sharp intake of breath as she stepped to his side.

‘Are you Ernie’s father?’ she asked, tucking her hair behind her ears.

‘Aye! I have taken up a room at the Leaky Cauldron. I haven’t gone – cannot bear to go home at the moment. My wife was with her mother in Hortshire until today.’

‘Where’s that?’ asked Ron.

‘It’s a wizarding town just outside of Dublin,’ answered Hermione.

Mr Macmillan nodded. ‘Yes. I saw you – in the pub just now – and followed you.’

‘To request a chat,’ said Ron, repeating the man’s words.

‘Yes. I want to know about my boy. I read in the newspapers that you were next to him when he – you watched him die.’

‘Yeah, but—’

‘I need to know what happened. My boy – he was Head Boy and a prefect. Why did he follow – why was he in that battle!’ Mr Macmillan’s voice quivered and he rubbed his squat nose. ‘Why wasn’t it _you_?’

‘Mr Macmillan,’ interjected Hermione, taking hold of Ron’s forearm, a gesture that told him to keep his mouth shut, ‘I realise you must be distraught. Your son died, but Ron and I have experienced the pain of loss as well. If you need to cry and take it out on someone, take it out on me, not Ron. His brothers and father died. I’ve only lost friends. I don’t stand here pretending that that loss is the same as losing family.’

Mr Macmillan’s eyebrows furrowed and he visibly ground his teeth together. ‘You lot started that blasted club! You thought you were being noble and _good_ , but that’s not what – you only brought trouble to my Ernie! Are you not the one everyone calls the cleverest witch at Hogwarts?’

‘Yes,’ answered Hermione and Ron was surprised she didn’t blush. Instead there was a rough tone to her voice, as though it was laced with anger. 

The mist turned into a drizzle and Ron wished there was something he could transfigure into an umbrella. Or better yet, he wished they could Apparate _right now._ Ernie’s father seemed unaware of the rain, his hair already matted in places and his face greasy and slightly dirty, as if the wizard hadn’t bathed in days. Ron wondered how different the pain from losing a child was from losing a parent. Ron knew his life would go on. His world was altered, but not over. He had things to live for, things to look forward to. Obviously, Mr Macmillan’s world had collapsed and died with his son. Ron was thankful his mother was able to grieve with the help of her remaining sons, daughter, and friends. He knew Lupin and Tonks had looked in on her frequently over the past few weeks and he was even more thankful for them for being able to help her when he wasn’t able to himself.

‘So,’ continued Mr Macmillan, ‘if you are so clever, how do you explain what has happened to my son?’

‘I really don’t think it _can_ be explained, Mr Macmillan. Ernie wanted to help us. No one forced him into it,’ replied Hermione with a patience Ron would never have been able to keep had he been the one conversing with Ernie’s father. ‘It was terrible, yes, but no one’s fault except the Death Eater who killed him. If you’re looking for answers, Ron and I don’t have them.’

‘I’m looking for a _reason_. I need a reason!’

‘There isn’t a reason. Ernie helped us capture three Death Eaters before he was killed.’

‘He died a hero,’ said Ron, ‘isn’t that enough?’

Mr Macmillan shook his head, let out a single sob, and sank to his knees. ‘His older brother and sister could not bother themselves with the war. They didn’t care. But my boy, my Ernie, was better than that. _But what for_? _WHAT FOR_? No one will talk about it. My wife pretends it has not even happened and reporters want to know about his life. I want to know about his death. _The point_ of it.’

‘Mr Macmillan—’

‘Did he say anything? Before he died?’

Ron’s mouth dropped open in surprise. As Mr Macmillan turned his eyes up towards him, Ron found himself at a loss for words. In the end, he simply shook his head.

‘My boy … my boy …’

‘It was instantaneous, Mr Macmillan,’ said Hermione. ‘ _Avada Kedavra_ , that’s what killed him.’

Mr Macmillan dropped his head, his shoulders shaking.

‘Perhaps you should go back to the Leaky Cauldron, Ron, and see if you can’t find Ernie’s mum.’

Ron nodded, but his feet stayed planted on the ground, as though stuck with a permanent sticking charm.

‘There isn’t any need,’ a thick, but feminine, voice sounded through the constant rain. Ron’s eyes flickered towards it; a woman stood, her hair pulled back in a severe-looking bun, though everything about her, from her eyes to her posture, seemed severe. ‘I’m Margot Macmillan.’

‘Mrs Macmillan, I’m Hermione Grang—’

‘I apologise my husband has made a fool of himself in front of you,’ interrupted Mrs Macmillan, ‘but if you would find another alleyway to do your business in and let me attend to my husband, I would be most appreciative.’

Hermione looked slightly put-out, but she took Ron’s hand again and led him towards the street. Before they got to the sidewalk she turned slightly and said, ‘Just Apparate from right here. I’ll see you at The Burrow.’

Ron heard the _crack_ of her Apparation before he could respond. He took in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and steadied himself.

‘Destination,’ he murmured, hoping he wasn’t too mentally distracted to Apparate without splinching himself, ‘determination, and … er … dragon dung? Fuck it.’ Ron felt the pull of Disapparation as he reappeared directly in his bedroom. 

He opened his eyes and looked down; all of him seemed to be there. He touched his ears and nose, ran a finger over each eyebrow.

‘Well, I seem to be all here,’ said Ron.

‘Good,’ said Hermione, who was seated on the edge of his bed, looking very prim. Her eyes roamed over his body. When her gaze settled on his face, she said, ‘That was rather … strange.’

‘Yeah,’ agreed Ron, sitting next to her. ‘Imperturb the door.’

‘Ron—’

‘Hermione.’

‘—don’t you feel a bit odd doing this?’

‘We’re not doing anything.’

‘Back there, in the alleyway, with Mr Macmillan—’

‘ _Hermione_.’

‘Ron, quit interrupting me.’

‘I wouldn’t have to interrupt you if you’d stop talking.’

Hermione narrowed her eyes and cast Ron a dangerous look, the kind of look where he usually shut up and went back to doing his homework. But this wasn’t Hogwarts any longer and Ron didn’t want to listen to Hermione talk about Ernie Macmillan’s father.

‘Ron—’

‘Hermione.’

‘Ron! Stop it! I _almost_ just called you Ronald right then and you know how angry I have to be to call you by your God-given name.’

Ron nodded. ‘Right, I know.’ He flung himself backwards on the bed and looked at the ceiling. ‘All right, then, carry on.’

‘The alleyway, with Mr Macmillan, didn’t you feel sorry for him?’

‘Of course I did.’

‘And it’s not bothering you now?’

‘It is, but I’m trying to forget about it so I can focus on more, y’know, important things.’ Ron looked at Hermione to emphasis the ‘important things’ he wanted to concentrate on.

Hermione blushed. ‘Oh,’ she said, and laid back on the bed next to him. ‘I wish I knew what to say to him. I obviously failed miserably. He fell on the ground and cried. He had other children and yet could only think about Ernie.’

‘Sad, that.’

‘Yes, it _is_ sad. Ron … how come you haven’t really dealt with it?’

‘With what?’ asked Ron, purposefully playing dumb.

‘Dealt with the deaths.’

‘I have. I cried. You saw me cry.’

‘I think you cried more at Dumbledore’s funeral.’ Hermione turned on her side, facing Ron, and placed a hand on his chest. Her fingers fiddled with his shirt collar. ‘I want to make sure you’re dealing with everything in an emotionally healthy way.’

‘You think too bloody much for your own good.’

‘You’re still angry with Harry as well.’

‘Harry and I talked today. Our friendship is fine. You don’t have to play go-between like you did when we were fourth-years. It’s not – it’s different this time. I’m not hacked off at him, or at least not anymore.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Promise.’

‘What about Mr Macmillan? The thing he said.’

‘I think he was slightly mad.’

Hermione shook her head. ‘No, I meant the one thing in particular. About why Ernie died and not you.’

‘Oh,’ said Ron, not wishing to think about that statement.

‘I’m glad it wasn’t you.’

‘So am I.’

‘I shouldn’t be glad that someone else died instead of you, but I am. I can’t help it.’

‘You can’t really blame him, though,’ said Ron. ‘I mean, Ernie’s Head Boy – er, _was_ Head Boy – and a prefect and got loads of good marks. And I just played Quidditch.’

‘I hate it when you talk like that, Ron _ald_. It drives me mad.’

‘Sorry,’ mumbled Ron. 

‘And you didn’t just play Quidditch. You did loads of good things. Voldemort and schoolwork aside, last year was pretty amazing, wasn’t it?’

Ron looked at Hermione, her hair still damp from the rain and frizzy at the ends. ‘Was it?’

‘We really got to know one another differently. Before last year, we were both _Harry’s_ best mates, but not each other’s. Wouldn’t you agree?’

Ron nodded.

‘Now,’ continued Hermione, ‘we’re better than best mates, right?’

Ron nodded again.

‘We got to know one another better and do … things … together. So all in all, I would say it was an amazing year.’

Ron nodded a third time.

‘Did you lose the ability to speak?’

‘No,’ said Ron, ‘but I wish you would.’

Before Hermione could say anything else, Ron pulled her to him and kissed her soundly on the mouth. He then pushed against her until she laid back and he covered her body with his own. One arm was trapped behind her neck, his legs tangled with hers like an impossible knot, and his nose seemed unable to breathe in air while he kissed her. It didn’t seem to matter that he was short of breath; he might soon suffocate and not even notice.

All the thoughts in his head focused on kissing Hermione. If even one strayed and began to think about other, more soft, lumpy parts of Hermione, then Ron would probably forget how to kiss altogether. He didn’t need to think about how his free hand rested on her hip, near the belt loop of her jeans. Nor did he need to think about how if he inched his hand upwards, he could come in contact with the subject of his now-straying thoughts.

Ron hoped it wasn’t obvious that he was no longer concentrating on kissing Hermione. He moved his hand slowly from her hip, up the side of her body. Brushing the side of her breast, Ron paused. When he’d done this with Lavender, he never thought to be nervous. He just acted on impulse and figured if Lavender got angry, who cared? He didn’t want Hermione angry. He wanted her pinned underneath him, just like she was now.

Ron jumped slightly; Hermione snaked her hand under his polo shirt and began to run her fingers over his chest. The skin-to-skin contact felt good, amazing even. Ron moved his mouth to her jaw and then her neck, continuing to run his hand up and down her side. He lacked the courage to touch her just yet.

Then, Hermione did the unthinkable. The unimaginable. The unfathomable. She removed one of her hands from inside Ron’s shirt and took hold of his, moving it over her breast and pressing it down.

‘Just touch me. They don’t bite, you know.’

Ron opened his eyes and peered at Hermione. ‘Wha—?’

Hermione smiled up at him, her eyes practically dancing with mischief. Mmmm, how he loved her sometimes.

XXXXXXX

Though he begged her to stay, Hermione demurred and went home. She told him to come by Sunday evening after her parents left for their holiday, and they could have dinner and do something completely Muggle – like go to the cinema. The idea seemed a bit barmy to Ron, but Hermione was a Muggle-born after all.

‘You should get some sleep,’ Hermione had said right before she Disapparated. ‘George’s coming home tomorrow, isn’t he? Sleep well.’ 

Ron took off his jeans and polo shirt, throwing on an old Cannons shirt and tried to sleep in his boxers. His room was hot and stuffy, but it was _still_ raining outside so he couldn’t open a window. Instead, he turned over and laid on his stomach, pressing his face into his pillow, and tried not to think of how Hermione felt underneath him. Whenever he tried not to think of something, it ended up preoccupying him.

At first, his thoughts were of Hermione and how she felt – her mouth, her skin. How one day she was just an annoying _girl_ who bothered him about doing his homework. She changed, though; they both did. One day she was a girl, not altogether thin, but certainly not a _woman_ either. Puberty gave her a new body, one completely foreign to Ron. In the past, he’d noticed Madam Rosmerta and the large curves that were concealed underneath her tight blouses, but for a friend to possess a body like that was not something Ron had been prepared for. It snuck up on him. His own voice had already finished cracking and changed into that of a man’s instead of a boy’s. His legs thickened and the hair on his face turned from a soft down to coarse whiskers that he had to shave every morning. Harry didn’t seem to change quite as quickly, which was probably why Ron was so shocked when he realised Hermione _had_.

Everyone probably thought it was at the Yule Ball when he noticed Hermione was a girl. He’d always known she was a girl; he wasn’t _that_ thick. It wasn’t until fifth year, though, when Hermione was writing a letter to Krum from one of the chairs in the Gryffindor common room. Harry had stayed behind after the DA meeting to watch Cho cry all over herself and it was just Ron and Hermione, alone. He sat on the floor and looked up at her. The firelight danced shadows across her skin and for some reason the way the top buttons of her shirt exposed the skin of her collar bone made Ron’s heart thump loudly in his ears. Suddenly, her curves looked more prominent, her legs smoother, her mouth redder. Her tongue whipped out of her mouth and licked the corner of her lip as she tapped her wand against the parchment in front of her, probably erasing something. 

She was no longer Just Hermione then. At least not in body. So when gits like McLaggen tried to chat her up, Ron became furious. If blokes were going to be interested in her, they needed to be interested in her for the right reasons and Ron felt that no one but him fancied her for _her_.

 

As Ron lay on his stomach, his thoughts moved from Hermione to what had happened in the alleyway. Mr Macmillan had forced Ron to remember what it was like to try to run to Ernie’s aid as he was cornered by two Death Eaters. As Ernie got hit with the Killing Curse, Ron threw a curse at the Death Eater himself, but it didn’t get there in time. Ron skidded to a halt and tripped over Ernie as the other boy fell to the ground, his head lolling to the side, wand rolling across the earth, away from his limp hand. His body looked like a doll’s, flaccid and lifeless, as though it could be moved in unnatural, but playful ways. His eyes looked like glass, unresponsive, staring at the battle but not seeing any of it.

When Ron finally fell asleep, he dreamt of madmen in tattered cloaks crying so hard it flooded the streets, beams of green light shooting across the sky, and cold, china eyes staring at him from beneath a head of frizzy brown hair.

XXXXXXX

Ron clomped down the stairs to the kitchen around noon the next day. He scratched his head, mussing up his hair, and rubbed his eyes. As usual, Ginny was seated at the kitchen table, flipping through a magazine. Mrs Weasley wasn’t in sight, but she had left some eggs and bacon on the counter in a pan.

‘There’s a warming charm on the food,’ said Ginny.

Ron glanced at her. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but half of it was falling out. Her cheeks and nose were bright red.

‘Were you just out flying?’

‘Yeah. It stopped raining this morning so Harry and I went out for a while. Mum left about an hour ago to get George from St Mungo’s. She made me clean before I flew – get his old room all ready. I think I nearly killed myself trying to dust one of the bedside tables. Something went _poof_ and there was all this pink smoke.’

Ron took the eggs and bacon and put them on a plate. He grabbed a fork and sat down in Bill’s old chair at the table across from Ginny. He took notice of the _Daily Prophet_ opened at the other end of the table near where his mum always sat.

‘Did Mum leave Fred’s bed in there?’

Ron could feel Ginny’s eyes on him and when he looked up her face wore a horrified expression. She closed her magazine and folded her hands together on top of it, leaning over the table towards Ron.

‘Are you serious?’

‘Of course I am. Why the bloody hell would I ask that if I wasn’t?’

‘I dunno,’ said Ginny, ‘but Mum left the bed there.’ She leaned back, her eyes narrowing. ‘D’you think it’s a bad idea? What if George flips out when he sees it?’

Ron shrugged and shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

‘You could act a bit more concerned, you know. He’s your brother too.’

‘I’m concerned. What d’you want me to do about it, huh? If George doesn’t like it, one of us’ll get rid of it, won’t we? He’s not a kid so I suspect he can Vanish a bed himself. Right brilliant with a wand when he wants to be, George is.’

Ginny frowned and her eyes grew watery. ‘You just don’t seem _sad_.’

‘Huh?’

‘About everyone. You don’t seem sad. You and Harry are perfect together. You never deal with your feelings.’

‘We’re not _girls_ , you know.’

‘So what?’ demanded Ginny, standing up and grabbing her magazine. ‘Boys can cry too! I’m so bloody sick of being afraid to talk about Charlie or Percy or Fred ... or _Dad_. Mum’ll just burst into tears and you’ll ignore it. And Harry just watches me talk, but never says anything. I know you’re sad and you won’t bloody talk about it. What’s wrong with you, Ron?’

‘You haven’t even tried to talk to me. What d’you wanna talk about? You wanna talk about Charlie?’

Ginny shrugged.

‘All right, then we’ll talk about Charlie,’ said Ron, the anger evident in his voice. ‘His body was covered in scars – burns and bite marks and the like – and he knew each and every fucking scar. Could tell you what dragon gave him which scar. And if his scars weren’t from dragons, they were from women. Charlie liked the biters, y’know, and everyone knew it ‘cause he couldn’t keep his mouth shut about it.’

‘Who’s next? Percy?’ said Ron, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. ‘Percy was a _git_. He was a bloody wanker who never apologised to Mum for making her cry for two years. He never took off his glasses and his eyesight wasn’t even that bad! He used to try to lecture Bill and Charlie for sleeping with women. Told them all about STCs and STHs – like Charlie and Bill had no idea what kind of sexual curses are out there. Thought he bloody knew everything, didn’t he? I don’t really have those warm, fuzzy memories about him.’ 

‘Fred was ... Fred was ...’ The anger started to dissipate and Ron’s tone grew softer. ‘Fred was loud and wanted everyone to always see him. He knew all the Quidditch players for all the professional teams ... but I don’t think he loved Quidditch like George and me. I think he played because George played.’

‘They always did everything together,’ said Ginny, ‘but Fred went through more girlfriends than I did boyfriends.’ She smiled, even though it was a sad smile. ‘He was funny and had great ideas, but George was better at making those ideas come to life. Fred didn’t care about being poor. I mean, we all sort of dealt with owning things that’re rubbish, but I don’t think Fred actually minded. George got embarrassed when his trousers were patched, but Fred would just throw on a patch that stood out, like in lime green or something. George would follow, but he seemed ashamed underneath about it. Fred and George were the same, but completely different.’

Ron nodded in agreement.

‘I wonder how George is going to adjust without Fred.’ Ginny wiped at her eyes before continuing. ‘Though I think he’s faring better than Mum is without Dad.’

‘Yeah.’

‘I miss Dad,’ said Ginny, looking straight at Ron, as though daring him to say otherwise.

‘Why’re you looking at me like that? I miss him too.’

‘I miss the way he used to come home with stories about Muggles.’

‘I miss how he’d always bring props for the stories, like plugs or, er, rubber ducks.’

‘He has a box of rubber ducks in the shed.’

‘I know,’ said Ron. ‘Harry and me found it yesterday. Dad has a lot of weird stuff out there.’

‘Had.’

‘What?’

‘You said Dad _has_ weird stuff.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yeah.’ Ginny fiddled with the corner of the cover of her magazine. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’ll miss how Dad used to enjoy the twins pranks. He always laughed when he got turned into a canary.’

‘Or a trout when they made those Trout Truffles. Funny watching all the scales fall off one by one.’

‘I’ll miss watching him and Mum. Mollywobbles and all that.’

Ron made a face. ‘I don’t reckon I’ll miss that.’

‘No? They were so in love,’ said Ginny dreamily, ‘even at their age. D’you think when I’m old Harry’ll still love me?’

‘And call you Ginnywobbles?’

‘ _Ron_! That’s not what I meant.’

‘I’m not any good at answering questions like that. Ask Hermione. She knows everything.’

Ginny frowned. ‘Well, I hope he loves me until we’re as old as Mum. D’you think he loves me?’

‘For Merlin’s sake, Gin, how am I supposed to know that?’

‘Did you just call me _old_?’

Ron’s head whipped around. His mum and brother stood in the entryway to the kitchen; they must have Floo’ed to the living room without either Ginny or him hearing. George’s usual husky frame had thinned quite a bit during his stay in hospital. He looked very tired and still had bruises on his face from a curse that had hurled him backwards with such force that he slammed into a tree, breaking several bones and bruising his muscles. He wasn’t much use to the battle after that, having been knocked out, but he and Fred killed a Death Eater together before George became incapacitated.

‘Well, you _are_ old, Mum,’ said Ginny.

‘I’m not even fifty years old yet, young lady! You’ll be lucky to look half this good when you’re my age. George, why don’t you sit down and I’ll prepare some lunch?’

George shook his head. ‘No, thanks, Mum. I think I’ll take a nap. All those potions the Healers still have me on make me just wanna sleep.’

Mrs Weasley nodded. ‘Of course, dear. Ginny, why don’t you help George up to his room?’

Ginny nodded quickly and put her magazine down on the kitchen table. ‘Sure, Mum.’

‘I don’t need—’ George began, but closed his mouth when Mrs Weasley shot him a familiar don’t-talk-back-to-me look. He nodded at Ginny and they both went to the stairs. George went up first and appeared to use his hands, holding very tightly onto the rail, to heave his weight up each step until he was out of sight.

Ron glanced over at his mother, who watched her older son struggle up the stairs. She cleared her throat, turned around, and seemed to jump when she noticed Ron was looking at her. The red blood vessels prominently stood out against the whites of her eyes. She rubbed them furiously.

‘I’m going to check the chickens.’

It seemed like a poor excuse, but Mrs Weasley hurried outside through the kitchen door. If there were scrambled eggs for breakfast, then she had checked on the chickens already; how else would there have been eggs to cook?

Ron ate the rest of the food on his plate and used a cleaning charm on it. He wondered where Harry was and went upstairs to the other boy’s room to see if he could find him. Before he left the kitchen, he grabbed the _Daily Prophet,_ figuring he could at least flip through the ads if Harry had disappeared somewhere. 

Knocking on the door to Harry’s room, Ron heard something fall with a loud _thump_ on the floor. A moment later Harry opened the door looking slightly annoyed.

‘What’d you drop?’

‘A book. I wasn’t expecting the knock.’

‘Why aren’t you off groping my sister?’

Harry shrugged. ‘Didn’t fancy watching her read one of her girly magazines.’

‘George’s home.’

‘Really?’

Ron nodded.

‘How’d he look?’

‘Thin.’

‘Figures. St Mungo’s food tastes like shit.’

Ron snorted. ‘Yeah. Hey, what happened to your arm?’

Harry glanced down at his right arm. It was all red and bruised, with scrapes running from his elbow to his wrist. He rolled his eyes and walked back into his room. As he walked by his dropped book, he picked it up and then sat down at his desk. Ron entered the room and seated himself on top of Harry’s old school trunk. The room Harry stayed in used to belong to Percy. Harry kept it bare. The walls had several rectangular spots where posters about studying diligently had once been tacked up, but Harry hadn’t bothered to put anything of his own up. Ron knew he had Quidditch posters too. It was as though Harry didn’t want to really make his room at The Burrow _his_ and preferred to keep it looking as a guestroom. 

‘I fell off my broom this morning right into one of the bushes in front of your house.’

‘Ouch, mate.’

Harry nodded. ‘I suppose.’

‘You _suppose_? What the bloody hell does that mean?’

‘It means – I don’t know what it means.’

Ron was thoroughly confused.

‘I suppose I feel numb. I was surprised it hurt at all, actually.’

‘I don’t know what “numb” is supposed to mean, Harry.’

Harry turned and looked at Ron. ‘You prob’ly don’t want to answer this, but ... d’you think you love Hermione?’

‘Umm.’ Ron felt his ears grow hot and knew they were bright red. ‘I haven’t really thought about it,’ he lied.

‘Ever since Dumbledore died I really haven’t, like ... dealt with anything. I know I shouldn’t hide that I’m alive, but I just want to live my life and not dealing with things is how I usually do it. I mean, Sirius died and I hardly cried, right? Ginny sort of ... makes me feel things.’

‘Oh, stop, Harry, really. I don’t want to know anything about Ginny make you _feel_ things.’

‘Fuck you, Ron, that’s not what I meant and you know it. Whatever Hermione makes you feel, I’m sure it’s similar to Ginny and me. I don’t think I’m explaining this well. Anyway, when I fell my arm hurt and I sort-of realised that even though I’m “dead” I’m still alive. I suppose.’

‘You’re supposing again.’

‘I know.’ Harry shrugged. ‘So, I lied. Before. When I said I was reading a book. I wasn’t. I was making a list of things to do now that I know I’m not gonna get _Avada Kedavra’_ ed by Voldemort.’

‘Oh. Hermione might fall over dead if she heard you were making a list. She loves lists.’

‘I know,’ said Harry with a laugh. 

‘Well, I’ll let you finish your list,’ said Ron, standing up and rolling up the newspaper in his hand.

‘You don’t think it’s stupid, do you?’

‘Think what’s stupid?’ asked Ron, stopping at the door.

‘This list thing.’

Ron shrugged. ‘No, not really. I suppose you were never really given the chance to think about those things before.’

‘Now you’re the one supposing.’

Ron smiled. ‘Yeah. Hey, listen, if you want to go for another fly later, lemme know. I could use a workout.’

Harry nodded. ‘Sure thing.’

Ron left Harry’s room and went up the stairs to his own bedroom. He sat at his desk and took one of his self-inking quills from the desk drawer. He flipped the paper open to where the ads for jobs around the magical world were. Using the quill, Ron circled all the potential jobs in or just around Hogsmeade. Even though Hermione thought the past year was ‘amazing’, Ron thought so much more could have happened. He certainly wasn’t going to let another year go by without furthering their relationship. Hermione would have to do a lot more than take a job at Hogwarts to get rid of him. He just hoped he could actually get one of the jobs in Hogsmeade ... Well, he’d just have to wait and find out.

After twenty minutes of reading tiny newsprint, Ron’s eyes grew heavy. He’d slept for several hours the night before, but he was still tired. Soon his head drooped and he fell asleep on top of the _Daily Prophet_ , but unlike last night, this time he didn’t dream.

XXXXXXX

**To Be Continued ...**

XXXXXXX

A/N: In case y’all didn’t figure it out in the story, STC and STH means “sexually transmitted curse” and “sexually transmitted hex.” 

 


	5. Two Important Things

XXXXXXX

XXXXXXX

**Chapter Five: Two Important Things**

XXXXXXX

Once he woke up from his nap, Ron wrote letters with information about his schooling and qualifications (or lack thereof) to four potential jobs in Hogsmeade. Hermione owled him after dinner that night to say she missed him and hoped he wouldn’t forget about coming over to her house on Sunday. By the time Ron woke up the next morning and went down to breakfast, four letters were waiting for him about each job he had applied for.

He forced himself to finish eating before he took the letters; he didn’t want to appear too eager and have anyone ask questions about them. By the kitchen door lay his trainers, caked with dirt and grey from age, and he shoved his feet in them, not bothering to tie the laces. He stumbled out the door, his heels pressing the backs of his shoes down, and tried to walk towards the wooded area near his house with his feet only half-inside his shoes. He made it to the moss-covered pond without falling and sat down, the grass prickling his bare calves. Near the pond a toad croaked what sounded like long and low-pitched groans. Once Ron forced his eyes away from the toad, he looked at the envelopes, now all bent and crumpled, in his hand.

Hermione was always the eager one when it came to the owl-post. Unless the letter was from Hermione, Ron hardly ever received good news via owl. Several Howlers over the years from his mum, letters from Hogwarts about the seemingly endless textbooks he had to buy for the upcoming term, joke notes from the twins that usually blew up or turned his hands blue or gave his fingers warts. Nothing particular good or interesting. The only times he ever opened a letter immediately was if Hermione or Harry wrote it – and the past summers Harry hardly ever picked up a quill while he played prisoner and slave at the Dursley’s. Hermione had taken to opening Ron’s letters over the previous year; he had been too nervous when anyone wrote, fearing it was always going to be terrible news about someone in his family. Hermione never asked; she simply undid the letters from the owls’ legs and opened them. A quick scan told her what had happened and if there was bad news, she quietly relayed it, placing her hand on Ron’s forearm as a sign of comfort.

This time Hermione wasn’t around so Ron had to be a man and open his own post. Just as he feared: the first two letters were ‘thanks, but no thanks’. The third one was a ‘you’re on a waiting list to be considered’, which seemed hopeful. The fourth letter was, amazingly, a request for an interview. Ron’s heart thumped so hard in his chest he could feel his whole body twitch in time with his pulse. A interview for a job in _Hogsmeade_. From Hogsmeade, Ron would be able to see Hogwarts castle, where Hermione would be. 

Ron read the letter again, just to be sure he had read it correctly and hadn’t dreamt the whole thing.

_Mr Weasley:_

_We have received your application for the position at the_ Marcus & Dubois _company, which has the sole contract with the British Ministry of Magic for the repair and reconstruction of Hogsmeade._

_The_ Marcus & Dubois _company is the top wizarding architectural company in_ _Europe_ _, having designed and built over one-hundred-thousand homes, shops, and ministry buildings since 1922. For the Hogsmeade project,_ Marcus & Dubois _will be salvaging and organising the debris from last year’s attack, reconstructing the shops and blocks of flats with specific spells and magical materials, and working on public campaigns to boost the morale of the wizarding world in hopes of rebuilding Hogsmeade to the same place of popular commerce that it was yesterday but with a new hope worthy of tomorrow. Several witches and wizards are needed to aid in each of these jobs._

_If you are still interested, please come to the Three Broomsticks at_ _four o’clock_ _this afternoon. This is your allotted interview time with the heads of the company. We look forward to meeting you._

_Very Truly Yours,_

_Harold Marcus & Guillaume Dubois_

No, not a dream. 

Four o’clock wasn’t very far off. Strange, Ron didn’t feel too nervous. He thought he should be sweaty and shaky, but he was calm. Perhaps the anxiety was replaced by the excited feeling he was having. He could actually be employed by the end of the day! A real _paying_ job close to his girlfriend. 

The cost of letting flats in Hogsmeade had dropped considerably since the attack on it several months before. Most of the witches and wizards vacated immediately after the attack, leaving several flats open to be let, which was common knowledge amongst the wizarding world. Having his own place could now be a reality.

Ron stood up and fixed his shoes so that his feet were fully inside the trainers. He did that a lot, walked on the heels of his shoes, but not because he was lazy. Because he was too excited to stop and take care of miniscule details like properly wearing his shoes. Ron acted on emotion – excitement, anger. On his short walk back to the house, Ron tried to construct a note to Hermione, telling her the good news. _I’ll be working near you_ , he’d write. _And we can go get a drink at the Three Broomsticks whenever you want_. 

But what if he didn’t get the job? Ron tripped over a small stump hidden in the tall grass and righted himself before he completely fell over. Not get the job? It was a terrible thought; it unnerved him. He decided against telling Hermione about the interview. No use in being a disappointment when – _if_ – this _Marcus & Dubois _company said no.

Ron went inside and up the stairs to his attic room. He sat at his desk and pulled a piece of parchment and his self-inking quill towards him. The quill scratched against the parchment, but he managed to scribble out a note, confirming his interview. Pig was asleep atop one of the bedposts and let out a disgruntled-sounding hoot when Ron woke him up.

‘Bloody bird! Get back here!’ Ron shouted as Pig dive bombed his head. ‘You’re a menace! If you don’t hold still I’m going to go get Hedwig!’

Pig continued to fly around the room, but at slow enough pace that Ron tied the note to his leg and opened the window.

‘Take this to the Three Broomsticks and gave it to—’ But Ron didn’t get to finish telling Pig anything for the little bird zoomed out of the window and darted out of side around the side of the house.

_Knock, knock_.

‘Er, come in?’ said Ron, out of breath and still looking out of his window for some sign that his stupid bloody owl was flying the right way towards Hogsmeade.

The door to Ron’s room opened slowly and Mrs Weasley stood there, wearing a bright green cardigan sweater over a pink and yellow striped dress with skirts so swishy and big they cast shadows over her blue sandals. ‘I’m going to Diagon Alley for Ginny’s schoolbooks. Do you need anything while I’m there?’

‘No. Thanks, though.’

‘You don’t want me to pick up a gift for Ginny’s birthday?’

‘Er ...’

‘I don’t know what “er” means.’

‘Mum!’ said Ginny, peeking her head in Ron’s room. ‘Don’t ask him about my birthday in front of me.’ She stuck her tongue out at her brother.

‘How old are you?’ Ron asked with a snigger. ‘Four?’ He stuck his tongue out back at her.

Ginny smiled. She walked into his room and looked around. ‘Ever thought about getting rid of these posters?’

‘Never,’ lied Ron.

Ginny had on a green sundress, faded from years of wear. She looked much too young in it, as though she was a small child again, and she wore it as though it held a promise of a renewed childhood – something they had missed the past few years and would never get back.

‘Why don’t you come to Diagon Alley? Mum can get my books and we can walk around.’

‘Take Harry.’

‘Harry’s dead,’ replied Ginny in a very bored-sounding voice.

‘Oh,’ said Ron, ‘yeah. I keep forgetting that.’

‘Lucky you.’

‘Can’t you walk around by yourself?’

‘No,’ said Mrs Weasley, ‘that wouldn’t be appropriate.’

‘Mum stills thinks a Death Eater is going to try and get me.’

‘Ginny!’ shrieked Mrs Weasley. ‘I never—’

‘Actually,’ interrupted Ron, ‘I’ll be in Hogsmeade today. I have a job interview ...’

Mrs Weasley immediately stopped shrieking and stared at Ron, her eyes wide with a look of confusion.

‘You – what?’

‘I have a job interview. With, er, some company trying to rebuild Hogsmeade.’

‘When you were planning on telling me? I’m only your mother.’

‘I just found out about the interview when the owls came.’

‘So you think you’re going to traipse off to Hogsmeade everyday?’

‘Er ... I thought I’d get a flat there ...’

Mrs Weasley’s eyes filled with tears and Ron felt the guilt press down on his chest. He hadn’t meant to make her cry.

‘I need to make my own money and you’ll be busy helping George keep up his joke shop while he’s here. He said you had good business sense – Mum, don’t look at me like that.’

‘Why Hogsmeade? Couldn’t you get a job in Ottery St Catchpole?’

‘No. I don’t know how to do Muggle work.’

‘George doesn’t need that much help with the business end of his shop.’

‘He said you help him improve his products,’ said Ginny.

‘I’ve never once helped the twins with that joke shop of theirs!’

‘All those years where you had to put us right when something bad happened? Like when Fred couldn’t put my face back to normal and I was bright pink for a week?’ said Ginny. ‘You had to put me right. And they watched you and picked up your counter curses and—’

‘Enough!’ shouted Mrs Weasley.

Ron glanced at Ginny who shrugged.

‘I’ve been waiting for the house to get empty for a long while. One thing or another kept coming up once you lot were all at Hogwarts. Your father needed help with something at work – they never gave him enough extra help, you know – and then there was everything with the Order ... I always thought I’d go back to working at St Mungo’s once the war was over. I went through enough Healer Training the summer after I finished Hogwarts to become a Healer’s Aide and then worked at St Mungo’s for nine months before Bill was born. I’d like to go back and work there again.’

‘You should do that again, Mum,’ said Ginny. 

Mrs Weasley cleared her throat and turned her attention back on her son. ‘I can’t believe my Ronnikins is going to be up for his first job!’

‘Er, yeah,’ said Ron, the back of his neck growing hot.

‘You’re going to charm the robes right off them when you go for your interview. When is it?’

‘Four o’clock.’

‘Merlin! That’s not far away. You’ll need a shower and a shave—’

‘I can handle it, Mum.’

‘Of course you can. You’re a man now.’

‘ _Mum_ ,’ groaned Ron. 

‘We should get going to Diagon Alley before Ron pops a blood vessel,’ said Ginny, standing up and ushering Mrs Weasley out the door. ‘Bye, _Ronnikins_ ,’ cooed Ginny, and they were both out the door.

XXXXXXX

Pushing the door to the Three Broomsticks open, Ron swallowed back his fear in a loud gulp and entered the pub. All the tables were empty, save one where two men sat, one who was completely bald and had a large black top hat sitting next to him on the table; the other had a beard so long it disappeared underneath the table and hair growing out of his ears. They both wore spectacles and their fingers shuffled through stacks of parchment in front of them.

Ron glanced at the bar. Madam Rosmerta stood, wiping wet mugs with a white dishtowel. She dressed as she usually did in a long skirt and tight shirt. Today her bust seemed to overtake the plunging neckline, her cleavage seeming deeper and darker than Ron remembered.

‘Pub’s closed,’ she said, drawing Ron’s attention away from her chest and up towards her face.

‘I’m here to see, er ...’ Ron’s mind went blank. He couldn’t remember the names of the men he was supposed to see. All he could think of at that moment was Hermione and whether she’d be amused that staring at a woman’s chest would cause him temporary memory loss or whether she’d be hacked off.

‘Guillaume and Harold?’

‘Right.’

‘They’re over there.’ She nodded towards the only two patrons in the pub. ‘They rented out the whole place. An’ at times like this, I can’t turn away business.’

‘Right.’

‘I remember you. You used to come in here with Harry Potter and that oddly pretty girl with the funny soundin’ name.’

‘Hermione,’ Ron mumbled.

‘Aye, that’s it. How’re you lot getting’ on?’ Madam Rosmerta’s face drained of all colour. ‘Oh, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean ...’

‘Oh. Right. Well, Hermione and me are good, great, y’know, fine. Harry’s, well, you read the papers, I’m sure.’

‘Yes. Here’ – Romserta reached under the bar and pulled out a bottle of Butterbeer – ‘take this, on the house.’

‘Oh. Thanks.’ Ron took the cold bottle.

‘You can go on to the interview. Good luck.’

‘Right. Thanks,’ said Ron again. He walked towards the table in the middle of the pub. The two men didn’t look up from their stacks of parchment. Ron cleared his throat. ‘Er, hello. I’m Ron Weas—’

‘Speak up!’ the wizard with the beard all but shouted in an accent that reminded Ron mildly of Seamus, though Ron knew this man was probably more Scottish than Irish. ‘Guillaume’s all deaf o’er there!’

‘I am _not_ deaf, ‘Arold.’ The bald wizard looked up at Ron appraisingly. ‘Are you ze four o’clock?’

Ron nodded. ‘Yeah – er, yes, I am.’

‘ _Je m’appelle Guillaume Dubois_. I am ze co-founder of ze company and I ovair see all of our French projects.’

‘I am Harold Marcus,’ the wizard with the beard introduced himself. ‘Sit down, please. Let me firs’ tell you about our company. We founded _Marcus and Dubois_ in 1922—’

‘—a vairy good year—’ added in Guillaume.

‘—and since then we’ve o’erseen countless projects, mos’ly the construction of new wizard homes an’ businesses, but since the war we’ve helped to repair damages done on wizardin’ neighbourhoods an’ towns. Our primary goal is not only to rebuild Hogsmeade, bu’ to improve it—’

‘—to bring in more stores and keep ze ‘Ogwarts students coming.’

‘Aye, quite so. We’re partic’ly interested in hirin’ ye, Mr Weasley.’

‘Me?’ said Ron, quite surprised. His head was spinning trying to keep Guillaume’s thick French accent straight while trying not to miss anything Harold said either. 

‘How come?’ asked Ron after a short silence.

Guillaume and Harold both laughed.

‘Because ye helped end the war!’ exclaimed Harold. ‘You were very modest about yer skills in yer application, but I mus’ say anyone who fought in the final battle an’ kept their name offa tombstone mus’ be a very powerful wizard indeed.’

‘ _Ouais,_ indeed,’ added in Guillaume.

‘Some of my family died in the war,’ said Ron, feeling annoyed and not exactly sure why. ‘They were more powerful than me.’

‘Are you quite sure? Eet does not matter. We zink you are a vairy good choice. We ’ave two positions available.’

‘Are ye interested in workin’ with the public?’ asked Harold.

‘The public?’ repeated Ron. 

‘Aye, goin’ out an’ advertisin’ our project, lettin’ the people know we are rebuildin’ Hogsmeade, that we are rebuildin’ all of magical Britain so the upcomin’ generation – that would be you – and our children and yer children will remember a strong and united wizardin’ world.’

‘We want ze message to go out zat we are rebuilding for tomorrow.’

‘The public is not such a good idea,’ said Ron. ‘When my girlfriend and I were at Diagon Alley for dinner we were mobbed by a swarm of witches and wizards asking us questions and trying to get autographs and pictures. I don’t think anyone wants to hear about your project, but about my version of the war.’ Ron sighed. ‘But it sounds like, er, a lovely job.’

‘Per’aps once everyone ’as calmed down about ze end of ze war, yes?’

Ron nodded. ‘Yes, I would be interested in it, then, of course.’

‘How disappointin’,’ said Harold, ‘but understandable. We do have another job which is much less satisfyin’. Did ye have time to walk around Hogsmeade?’

‘No, I Apparated straight outside the door.’

‘When we’re done here, take a mo’ to look around the town. Most of the buildin’s have been reduced to rubble er ash. We have assembled a team together to go through the debris an’ wreckage. We will salvage what we can to use to rebuild an’ we’ll also look fer anythin’ that can be saved, valuables an’ the like. We will go store by store so that anythin’ we find can be sent back to the store owners or if, God rest their souls, they’re no longer with us, their families.’

‘I can do that,’ said Ron, feeling enthused. 

‘But you must be vairy careful. Some of ze debris ’olds curses. Always use your wand and nevair your ’ands.’

‘Right,’ said Ron, remembering back to sixth year and how the smallest bit of Katie Bell’s skin had touched a cursed necklace and she was out of school for several months.

‘There’s a block o’ flats that wasn’t destroyed,’ said Harold, ‘over by the Shrieking Shack. If ye don’t mind haunted houses, then there are two er three flats still available to let.’ The old wizard took a blank piece of parchment and wrote something on it. He pushed it towards Ron. ‘This is what we pay our employees weekly. In light o’ the war, we unfortunately cannot pay any more than that, but there’s always room fer raises when we start getting’ more business. Between what the Ministry is givin’ us and private owners fer the repair of Hogsmeade, we are doin’ well to give ye that.’

Ron glanced down at the piece of paper. _35 Galleons_. His heart thumped loudly between his ears. The weekly salary was more money than he’d ever seen in his life. It would be enough to pay for a flat each month and buy food and perhaps a new pair of trainers that weren’t so grey. His flat might look a little bare; this weekly amount wasn’t enough to buy furniture or extras, but it was enough. It would do.

‘It’s fine – it’s good. I’ll take the job.’

XXXXXXX

Harry was sitting on the floor of his room, on his back, his arms stretched above him, holding a Quidditch magazine when Ron walked in through the open door. 

‘Knocking is nice,’ said Harry.

‘The door was open.’ Ron flopped down on the bed, making it creak, and sighed. ‘I got a job.’

‘Bully for you.’

‘For serious, Harry. A job in Hogsmeade. And I went to this block of flats and all they had were two and three bedrooms ones left. The two bedroom one was more than I think I can probably afford. The job won’t pay much.’

Harry sat up and tossed the magazine aside. ‘A two bedroom? How much?’

‘Eighty Galleons a month. And then a couple extra Knuts as well.’

‘That’s a great deal for Hogsmeade!’ cried Harry. He stood and walked over to his desk and began rustling through the drawers. ‘Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley used to have the most expensive flats in all of wizarding Europe.’ He paused. ‘Well, I think Fleur told me at the wedding last year that her flat in Paris was more expensive, but who wants to live in bloody Paris anyway?’

‘Er, right,’ replied Ron, not really caring about Fleur or France.

‘How much are the one bedrooms there?’

‘Only sixty, but they don’t have any.’

‘What are the three bedrooms?’

‘Ninety-five, I think.’

‘Sign up for a three bedroom flat,’ said Harry, ‘and I’ll pay two-thirds.’

‘Be serious,’ scoffed Ron.

‘I am serious! I need to leave The Burrow anyway. Ah, here it is.’ Harry held up a piece of parchment, wrinkled and torn on one side. He turned his eyes to Ron. ‘I’ve enough money to never have to work, y’know. We can move in together. Besides, it’ll be close to Hogwarts.’

‘Don’t think you’re brining my sister to our flat!’

Harry sniggered. 

‘What’s on the paper?’

‘It’s a letter from Gringotts. They send me one once a year, updating me on the status of my account.’

‘What the bloody hell does that mean?’

‘They just tell me how much is in it.’

‘Oh.’

‘You can trace my dad’s family tree back to Bowman Wright so ... y’know ... I get a percentage of all Snitch sales.’

‘All Snitch sales?’

Harry nodded.

‘Every last single sale?’

Harry nodded again.

‘Bloody hell. How much is in your account?’

‘Er ...’ Harry glanced back at the parchment and folded it up. ‘A couple, um ...’

‘Couple what? Couple thousand Galleons?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Would you just be out with it?’

‘A million or so. Perhaps not quite that much. I think.’

‘WHAT!’ Ron cried. 

‘Right. Let’s do it,’ said Harry. ‘Getting my own flat is on my list of things to do now that I know Voldemort isn’t gonna kill me. C’mon, I need outta this house. Your mum’s busy with George and I’m not useful here anyway.’

‘You’ll be just as useless at a flat.’

Harry shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

‘You won’t be able to hide in Hogsmeade. You can’t visit Ginny at Hogwarts. Everyone thinks you’re dead.’

‘Oh, yeah. Perhaps I’ll just have to un-dead myself.’

‘You’re not going through with the Fidelius Charm?’

‘I haven’t yet,’ replied Harry with a shrug.

‘What’s changed your mind?’

‘Ginny doesn’t really like this whole dead business, so I figured I might as well resurrected myself so we don’t have to fight about it anymore.’

From the tone of Harry’s voice, Ron knew he wasn’t telling the complete truth. It was true; Ginny hated that Harry was pretending to be dead, but Ron figured there was something deeper in Harry’s justification other than just wanting to avoid more rows. Something deeper that boys don’t talk about, so Ron let it go.

‘How’re you gonna do that?’ he asked of Harry’s impending resurrection.

‘Dunno yet. I could send Luna’s dad an owl.’

‘He’d think it was a prank.’

‘Luna’s dad? The guy who went searching for Bulgarian Snort-attacks?’

‘Hungarian Snorkacks.’

‘What-bloody-ever.’

‘You’re right. He’d be perfect.’

XXXXXXX

Since Ron had never been to Hermione’s house before, he used the Floo Network. Hermione had set it up with the Ministry to have the fireplace in the lounge temporarily connected. He fell out of the fireplace and onto his knees. As he stood, Ron noticed the cream-coloured carpet was spotted with grey ash. There was a mirror sitting inside an ornately decorated frame above the mantle; Ron looked at his reflection and grimaced. His nose and cheeks were covered in ash and dust. It wasn’t the entrance he’d hoped for.

‘Hello, Ron.’

He’d already begun dusting himself off when Hermione walked down the stairs and came into the lounge. Ron looked at her. She had on a blue jumper that was a few sizes too big for her and a pair of pyjama bottoms with blue stripes. Drawstrings from the pyjama bottoms hung beneath the hem of the jumper. 

‘Here, let me.’ Hermione lifted up the side of her jumper and tucked between the waist of her pyjamas and her hip bone was her wand. ‘ _Scourgify!_ ’

Ron glanced back at his reflection. All clean.

Hermione sat on the settee, her back against the armrest and her legs crossed in front of her. Ron sat down on the middle cushion and glanced around the lounge. The room reeked of old adults. The settee was covered in flowered print upholstery and the two arm chairs near the fireplace both held pillows in matching print. Unmoving art covered the walls, signed by artists Ron never heard of. The art seemed to be random criss-crossing lines or splatters of paint, all in colours that matched the furniture, and Ron wasn’t sure what the point of framing something was if he couldn’t even tell what the picture was supposed to be.

‘You haven’t written for a few days,’ said Hermione.

‘Oh. Sorry.’

‘Has nothing exciting happened?’

Ron shook his head, looking back her, taking in the frizzy ends of her hair. ‘Mum caught Ginny and Harry going at it the other day. She yelled at them for so long even Ginny began looking rather ashamed.’

Hermione smiled. ‘It was bound to happen.’

‘Yeah. Oh, I saw Madam Rosmerta.’

‘Where?’

‘At the Three Broomsticks.’

‘Visiting her, then? I always knew you fancied her.’

‘ _Hermione_.’

‘All right, all right. What were you doing there, then?’

‘I had a job interview.’

‘Oh?’ Hermione perked up. ‘You got a job?’

Ron nodded.

‘That’s so exciting! Tell me all about it.’

Ron told her, including the details of Mr Dubois’ and Mr Marcus’ accents and the way the two men completed one another’s sentences just as the twins used to do. 

‘And Harry wants me to sign up for one of the three-bedroom flats to share.’

‘That’s brilliant! You’re going to do it, aren’t you? Oh, my boys will be close to me while I’m at Hogwarts. It’s so exciting!’

Ron arched his eyebrows. ‘Your boys?’

‘You and Harry!’ Hermione frowned. ‘You know I’m more excited about you being there than Harry, don’t you?’

Ron nodded. 

‘Mum and Dad want me to come to the beach next weekend for holiday before I move my things over to Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall wants me there a week before the term begins.’

‘I can’t believe it’ll be September first so soon.’

Hermione smiled. ‘I know. I can hardly wait! Oh, and Mum and Dad said to bring you along with me to the beach. Their invitation still stands.’

‘I’ll have to see what’s going on with my new job. Say, what d’you have under that jumper?’

‘Is all you can think about my underthings?’

‘No, I think about snogging, too.’

‘Come on.’ Hermione stood.

‘Where’re you going?’

‘Upstairs.’

Ron watched as Hermione walked towards the staircase. He licked his lips and followed her to her bedroom. Had he been paying attention, he would have seen that Hermione’s room seemed to be stuck back in time from when she was a child. Her bookshelf was stuffed full of volumes, but there were two shelves nailed to the wall with neat lines of cuddly toys, mostly bears with brown or blue fur. Her walls were painted pale blue and most bare save one framed painting of a teddy bear. Only her desk seemed to be up-to-date, covered with thick encyclopaedias and dictionaries.

But Ron didn’t notice any of that. He took hold of Hermione’s drawstrings and pulled her to him, sighing into her mouth as he kissed her. This is what he wanted to do everyday. This is what would make paying for a flat worth it.

Hermione slipped her hands under Ron’s shirt; they were cold against his skin. He broke away from Hermione’s mouth as she pulled his shirt up. He raised his arms and the shirt came easily off.

‘In a hurry?’ asked Ron, rather amused.

Hermione smirked. The few times they were able to have a good snog, Hermione got an unfocused look in her eyes and her mouth parted, her tongue running back and forth on the bottoms of her front teeth.

The bulkiness of the blue jumper concealed all Hermione’s curves. That was completely unacceptable and Ron mirrored Hermione’s actions, pulling the jumper over her head. 

‘Brilliant,’ breathed Ron.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Just the jumper and this ...’ Ron lightly snapped the shoulder strap of Hermione’s bra. ‘Too many layers are bad.’

‘Oh?’

Ron didn’t respond, but instead moved the straps off her shoulders, sliding them down as far as they would go, and bent his head down. He lay kisses over the now-bare skin, his lips brushing softly over the dusting of freckles she had near her neck. Drawing invisible lines up and down her arms, Ron’s fingertips danced gently against her cool flesh. He moved his mouth to her other shoulder and heard Hermione take in a deep breath. His eyes glanced up at her face, her mouth still open, but her eyes now closed.

Carefully, Ron dropped to his knees, grasping Hermione’s forearms to balance as he did so. His eyes were almost at the same level as her breasts, but he closed them and kissed her stomach, bringing his hands from her arms to her hips. At almost a torturously-slow pace, Ron raked his hands up and down Hermione’s sides and across her lower back, pressing his lips against her abdomen.

Then, her hands were in his hair and it was as though her simple gesture gave him more fuel for he began to kiss her body with more enthusiasm. He reached up and felt along her the back of her bra for the clasp. One flick and it should – two flicks and it should – _okay_ , three flicks –

‘Bloody hell.’

‘Want me to do it?’

Ron looked at Hermione’s face. She was smirking again. ‘No,’ he answered, ‘I’ll do it.’ Another couple tries and Ron sank fully down until he was sitting on his knees and admitted defeat. ‘The way it’s supposed to go is that we don’t talk. At all. And I can undo that bloody thing you wear in one try.’

‘It takes practise is all.’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’

‘And you’ve had practise before.’

Ron looked back up. ‘Oh, so now we’re no longer playing the denial game I like to call “Lavender Never Existed”?’

‘Oh, hush.’ Hermione took a few steps backwards and sat down on her bed, extending her arms behind her and leaning back. ‘It’s not as though you’ve ever brought the subject up.’

‘What subject?’

‘Lavender.’

‘Ah, but let’s not talk about it now.’

‘Good. I don’t want to talk about her either. She’s inconsequential.’

‘She’s – what?’

‘It means she doesn’t matter.’

‘I know what it means,’ said Ron, an annoyed-sounding edge to his voice. ‘I’m just surprised to hear you say that.’

‘Everything happens for a reason and if Lavender hadn’t happened, then we might not have got together.’

‘Right. Why are we still talking when we’re both shirtless?’

‘I don’t know.’

Ron stood up and sat next to Hermione on her bed. He craned his neck to look at Hermione’s back.

‘It’s cheating if you look while you do it!’

‘It’s not a test!’

‘It could be,’ said Hermione, moving so she fully faced Ron. ‘What if we were someplace and it was pitch black and you couldn’t see?’

‘You were eager to do it yourself before.’

‘Yes, well now that I’ve thought about it, I realise the importance of properly educating you about women’s undergarments.’

‘I don’t need to learn anything else. Not everything has to be about learning.’

Hermione raised her eyebrows. ‘No? Are you sure about that?’

‘Uh ... yes?’

Hermione sniggered. She sat up on her knees and pushed Ron until he lay on his back. ‘Everyone’s different.’ She swung her leg over him and sat down across his stomach. ‘Everyone likes different things.’ She brushed the fringe off his forehead. ‘So I have to learn what you like and you have to learn what I like.’

Ron nodded. ‘Yeah.’

‘Unless you don’t think you need to learn anything else.’

‘Oh, I want to learn about this.’

Hermione smiled. ‘Good.’ 

She bent her head down to kiss Ron, but he stopped her. He reached up and tucked her hair behind her ears the best he could, cupping her face and running the pads of his thumbs across her cheekbones. 

‘What?’ Hermione breathed.

‘Nothing. It’s just we seem to do a lot of talking between snogging.’

‘I know.’

‘But we never say, y’know, really important things.’

‘I’m surprised you don’t think learning about how to take off undergarments is important.’

‘Oh, no, that is definitely one important thing. Just not the _only_ important thing.’

Hermione nodded, clearly not understanding that Ron was about to say something profound and tried to kiss him again, but he held her back.

‘Ron, I’m going to put my jumper back on if you don’t quit that.’

‘I’m about to say something important.’

‘Hurry up.’

Ron grinned. ‘Can’t resist me already, then?’

‘ _Ron_.’

‘Okay, okay. The important is that ... er ...’ Ron swallowed and began to panic. He knew what he wanted to say, he knew at this moment they were officially true, but he was having a hard time saying it. But on second thought, they’d already wasted so much time _not_ saying anything, _not_ doing anything. This was Hermione. He could tell her anything.

‘Ron,’ whispered Hermione, ‘what is it?’

Her brown eyes narrowed just a bit and filled with concern.

‘I think I love you.’

The look of concern faded and a smile grew across her face.

‘You think?’

‘Well, I suppose I _know_ , rather.’

‘Really?’

Ron nodded, knowing an utterly serious look was etched on his face. ‘Yeah.’

‘I love you, too.’

Ron searched her face for something – some sign that she wasn’t serious or perhaps lying, but he couldn’t find it. Her eyes held truth in them and when she went to kiss him again, Ron let her.

XXXXXXX

**To Be Continued ...**

XXXXXXX

 


	6. Three and One-Half Million Galleons

XXXXXXX

XXXXXXX

 

**Chapter Six: Three and One-Half Million Galleons**

 

XXXXXX

 

Ron snuck into his house the next morning, fully aware how bloody ridiculous it was to have to _sneak_ into his own home. He was eighteen and Hermione nearly nineteen; they were both legal enough to do whatever they wanted. And yet, here he was, Apparating into the back garden and creeping through the kitchen and up the stairs. Apparation made such a loud noise Ron was afraid someone might hear him if he had gone straight to his bedroom. Some witches and wizards could Apparate with faint _pops_ , but he always made a very loud _crack!_

 

The clock next to the icebox read eight o’clock and any moment Mrs Weasley would be awake if she wasn’t already. He hadn’t looked at the bewitched clock since the final battle. It still worked: it read where everyone, including Harry, was, but Mrs Weasley hadn’t taken off his father or brother and Ron couldn’t bring himself to look at their names or see where their hands were pointing. He would never admit it, but it was too painful to look.

 

As he passed by Harry’s room, he heard loud swearing.

 

‘ _Fuuuuuuuuuuuck_ _!_ ’

 

If there was one flaw Ron had – even though Hermione could probably name forty-two others – it was impatience. He wanted to know _right now_ what Harry was grumbling and swearing about inside his room.

 

Ron rapped his fingers against the door. Harry swung it open with such force Ron was surprised the door didn’t fly off its hinges.

 

‘ _WHAT_?’ snarled Harry, looking rather red in the face. ‘Um. Sorry. What, er, d’you need?’

 

‘Heard you carrying on in there. You all right?’

 

‘No, I’m not bloody all right. D’you think I sound all right?’ 

 

‘If you sounded like you were happy as a bunch of drunken pixies would I have asked?’

 

‘Here.’ Harry shoved a piece of paper in Ron’s hand.

 

Crinkled as though it had been crumpled up and smoothed out several times, the parchment had Gringotts letterhead. Ron scanned the lines, trying to soak up the words, but he was rather tired and none of it was making much sense.

 

‘Since I’m “dead” they are implementing my will. My fucking will.’

 

‘Why’d you get a will?’ asked Ron.

 

Harry blinked – twice – and then let out an exasperated-sounding sigh. ‘Why d’you think? Sirius had a will and gave me everything, yeah? And Voldemort wanted to kill me so I thought with all that shit sitting in my vault I better leave it to someone.’

 

‘Oh. Makes sense,’ replied Ron, beginning to feel rather stupid. Then something occurred to him. ‘Er. Why is Gringotts writing _you_ if you’re dead?’

 

‘I went down to the kitchen to make coffee. It was sitting on the table tied to an owl addressed to _Those in Previous Charge of One Harry James Potter_.’

 

‘It came here instead of your aunt and uncle?’

 

‘I left their house when I turned seventeen and I suppose your mum sort-of adopted me into the family, yeah? Besides, the goblins just know _everything_.’

 

‘And you just opened it?’

 

‘I knew it was from Gringotts. It had their seal.’

 

‘Fair enough, I suppose. So, er, where’d all the money go?’

 

‘You probably got an owl about it,’ grumbled Harry. ‘Everything in my vault has now been transferred to you.’

 

Ron lost all ability to control his muscles as his jaw fell open and he seemed unable to close it. His eyes refused to blink and his feet felt glued to the floor.

 

‘ _What_?’

 

‘Yeah. So, congrats, mate. You’re now a bloody fucking millionaire. Galleonaire?’

 

‘I don’t want your money. You’re not dead.’

 

Harry threw up his hands and kicked a stray book that had fallen on the floor. ‘I know I’m not dead! Whenever I need money, though, looks like you’re going to have to loan me some.’

 

‘I charge interest,’ said Ron.

 

‘But it’s _my_ money.’

 

‘In _my_ vault.’

 

Harry narrowed his eyes. ‘D’you even have a vault?’

 

Ron nodded. ‘Yeah. We all do when we turn seventeen. Though I doubt I have more than a Galleon or two. One of the things Mum and Dad did for us when we became legal. Got us a vault and put in, I think, five Galleons.’

 

‘Well. If all you got is two Galleons, you’re gonna need a bigger vault.’

 

‘Bigger vaults cost more. I’ll just add that to your loan interest rates. Though ... how does a dead man get a job to pay back his interest?’

 

‘You’re a git.’

 

‘But I’m a git who’s worth a million Galleons.’

 

Harry sighed. ‘Ron. Seriously. All my money. To you. Don’t tell Ginny.’

 

‘Why not? It’s hilarious. It’s ironic.’

 

‘Ironic? Is it?’

 

‘Dead men don’t need money.’

 

‘Charging me interest, indeed. That’s not on.’

 

Ron shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter. This just makes Ginny’s case better. I’m beginning to think she’s right about this whole you being dead thing.’

 

‘I already told you I was going to un-dead myself.’

 

‘I know you did.’

 

‘Think Gringotts will give me my money back when I’m no longer dead?

 

Ron snorted. ‘It’s my money now. So if we get a flat and I use what’s now _my_ money to let it and you move in, does that make you my mistress?’ Ron grinned. ‘Will you cook and clean and wash my pants?’

 

‘I’m not going within ten feet of your dirty pants.’

 

‘What about my dirty socks?’

 

‘Have you smelled your feet before? I’m not going anywhere near anything that smells _that_ foul.’

 

‘Then I charge interest. For every Knut you borrow, you have to give me a Knut back plus five Sickles.’

 

‘That’s bollocks.’

 

‘That’s business.’

 

‘You’re as tricky as the twins.’ Harry paused. ‘Er ... Tricky as the twins ... were.’

 

‘Right.’

 

Suddenly the mood in the room became far too serious for Ron to bear. He gave Harry a small smile and excused himself, quietly walking up the last flight of stairs to his attic bedroom. As though he hadn’t slept for days, Ron fell on his bed, still in his shirt and jeans, and promptly fell asleep. 

 

He only napped for an hour or so, catching up on the missed sleep from the night before at Hermione’s. His job started tomorrow and on the following Wednesday, he was moving into the flat in Hogsmeade with Harry. This wasn’t like a move to Hogwarts for a year, where all he needed were clothes and books. To pack for a flat would be completely different. He had posters and his bedroom furniture, all his toiletries and Quidditch stuff. He needed to start packing sooner than later.

 

His trainers padded down the stairs towards the kitchen. He grabbed an apple and bit into it as he opened the back door and walked through the grass of the back garden. Harry and Ginny were grunting and swearing, tossing garden gnomes as far away from The Burrow as possible.

 

‘Mum sent you to work?’

 

Ginny turned with a start. Her brown eyes met Ron’s blue ones and she smiled, leapt across the metre or so that separated them, and threw her arms around his neck.

 

‘ _Thank you_ ,’ she gushed.

 

Ron looked towards Harry, giving him his best confused-look, hoping the other boy could tell him what Ginny was on about.

 

‘You’re welcome. I think. What’d I do?’

 

Ginny pulled back, her face positively beaming. ‘Moving to Hogsmeade and taking Harry with you.’

 

‘Oh.’

 

‘We’re just not ready to be around each other every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every—’

 

‘I get it!’

 

‘Right.’

 

‘We were in the same house at Hogwarts,’ said Ron.

 

‘Different classes,’ replied Harry. ‘Different dormitories—’

 

‘Pardon?’ interrupted Ron. ‘I hope there’re different rooms here. Oh, please don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.’

 

‘Don’t be such a baby, Ron,’ snapped Ginny. ‘Like you’re such a bloody saint. You didn’t even come home last night! Doing downright naughty things to Hermione, I bet.’

 

‘Oh, please, shut up,’ said Harry miserably. 

 

‘We’ll be out of here on Wednesday,’ Ron told Ginny. 

 

‘What does the flat look like?’ she asked.

 

‘Dunno. Well, the _size_ of the flats are all the same,’ said Ron, ‘but the floor plans are a bit different. Three bedrooms ... two bathrooms ... a kitchen ... and a living area. There’s one flat with a small balcony that looks over the main streets of Hogsmeade, but I think that one might be occupied already ...’ Ron shrugged.

 

‘Sounds lovely.’

 

‘You’re not allowed there. Well, you are, but never in bedrooms.’

 

‘You’re worse than Mum,’ grumbled Ginny. ‘When do you start work?’

 

‘Tomorrow. Have to wear Muggle clothes and all that rot. They said robes would get in the way. I’ll be doing loads of lifting and things.’

 

‘You have a wand so _you_ won’t be lifting.’

 

‘I will so. It’s better to go through all the rubbish that’s in piles over Hogsmeade with hands. You can find things when you’re up close that you probably couldn’t if you used a wand.’

 

Ginny’s face pulled up into a disgusted look. ‘If you find any dead bodies, don’t tell me about it, yeah?’

 

That was something Ron hadn’t thought about. His body went rather cold and he felt the colour drain from his face.

 

‘You don’t think—?’

 

‘I don’t know, mate,’ said Harry. ‘Perhaps. Don’t tell me about it, either.’

 

Ron sighed.

 

‘So,’ said Ginny with a wide grin, ‘where exactly were you last night?’

 

‘At Hermione’s.’

 

‘Thought so. Mum’s gonna go spare when she finds out.’

 

‘How’ll she find out? I haven’t seen her this morning.’

 

‘She took George to his follow-up appointment at St Mungo’s. They left around six to get there in time. You can only Floo _out_ of the hospital now. And George says Apparation hurts far too much.’

 

‘So she won’t find out unless you tell her. Besides! I’m eighteen. I’m getting ready to move out anyway. Doesn’t really matter what she says, does it?’ He looked towards Harry for help.

 

‘I don’t really fancy being around the day we move out. I think we should do it early, before she wakes up.’

 

‘You can’t just sneak out!’ cried Ginny. ‘You’re such a bloody coward!’

 

‘I don’t want to be around when your mum sees us leave! She’ll cry!’

 

‘So what? She’s cried when everyone’s left. She cried when Bill went to Egypt and Charlie to Romania. She cried when George and Fred moved to Diagon Alley. And she’ll cry when Ron leaves, only Merlin knows why. He’s got smelly feet. I won’t miss him.’

 

‘You’ll miss me when you go to school,’ snapped Ron. ‘You’ve always had brothers with you at school.’

 

‘It’ll be great! I won’t have to worry about you creeping around corners and behind tapestries and finding me snogging. I can kiss in corridors without you going spare.’

 

‘I hope you’re not kissing anyone at Hogwarts,’ said Harry carefully.

 

Ginny turned to him and offered a smile. ‘I won’t. It’s the principle of the matter.’

 

‘I see.’

 

Ginny took a few steps closer to Harry and took his hand. ‘You’re the only one I want to snog. Among other things.’

 

‘Shut up, Ginny.’

 

‘Go back inside, Ron, if you don’t like it.’

 

Ron sighed and made his way back into The Burrow.

 

XXXXXXX

 

Since Harry was going to pay two-thirds of the rent with “Ron’s” money, Ron let him have the bedroom with the attached bathroom. He took the second bedroom, which was smaller, although only slightly. The flat was actually fairly small in general, but it was brilliant nevertheless. 

 

The living area was bare; Ron hadn’t gone to look for furniture yet. His pride wouldn’t let Harry’s money pay for things they both would use, so Ron figured in the next few weeks, once he’d got a few more of his own Galleons, he’d find a settee and a dining table that he’d be able to pay for half of.

 

The kitchen had counters and a pantry and a Muggle-style stove that could be charmed to cook food. Harry mumbled something about a refrigerator, and Ron had no idea what that was exactly, but there was an icebox that only needed to have a Freezing Charm applied once a month.

 

Because the flat was located on the corner of the building, it had loads of windows. There wasn’t a balcony, but Ron hadn’t figured they’d be able to get that flat. A fireplace was in the living area, but if they wanted to get hooked up to the Floo Network, they’d have to submit an application to the Ministry. Ron could already foresee problems – such as waking up and finding Ginny in their flat, having used the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room.

 

‘Your mum didn’t cry as much as I thought she might,’ said Harry, walking into Ron’s room. ‘It’s less orange in here. Much better.’

 

‘Yeah. I didn’t unpack the posters. I think it might be time to find something else to put on my walls, y’know?’

 

Harry nodded. ‘I think we need to paint this place. It’s so ... _white_.’

 

‘What colour?’

 

‘Dunno. I suppose Hermione might know. She’s a girl, yeah? Girls know about colours.’

 

‘I don’t know if Hermione’s _that_ kind of girl,’ said Ron.

 

‘I’m not what kind of girl?’

 

Ron turned. Hermione stood behind Harry, holding two packages in her hands. She’d pulled her hair back in a messy bun at the nape of her neck. Even with a hairstyle that Ron had seen his own mother wear, Hermione looked brilliant.

 

‘Nothing. Hi.’

 

Harry walked further into Ron’s room so Hermione could enter as well.

 

‘I have housewarming gifts,’ she said, handing one of the packages to Harry and the other to Ron.

 

‘Thanks,’ said Harry. ‘D’you want me to open it now?’

 

‘You don’t have to.’

 

‘Wait, how’d you get in?’ asked Ron, shaking his present next to his ear.

 

‘You left the door unlocked. I Apparated to the Three Broomsticks.’

 

‘So when d’you move to Hogwarts?’ asked Harry conversationally.

 

‘Oh, at the end of the month,’ answered Hermione. ‘Most professors come the first of September, like the students, but I’m given a day or so to move my things in and get prepared.’

 

‘I can’t believe you’re going to be a professor. Bossing everyone around. Make sure to take loads of house points from Slytherin.’

 

‘Harry, I think we’re beyond house rivalries, aren’t we?’

 

Harry shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. It’s best that I’m never a professor. Slytherins would have negative points. _One thousand points for being a poncy git,_ and so forth.’

 

‘I’m not actually going to be a professor, though. I’m only helping Professor McGonagall. Enrolment is going to be lower than usual, until parents actually feel safe enough to send their children to school. She hasn’t been able to find anyone to help her teach Transfiguration and it was one of my better subjects. I might get to help out with Defence, but she wants me to mainly focus on Transfiguration. She can teach the upper years, but the lower years? She’ll need help. There’s a lot to do as Headmistress.’

 

‘You’ll be brilliant, I’m sure,’ said Harry. He glanced at his wrist, which Ron noticed didn’t have a watch on it, and said, ‘I told Gin I’d buy her a Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks if the Ministry gave her a temporary Portkey. I’ll be glad when she takes the Apparation test and can start Apparating.’

 

‘Good luck with that,’ said Hermione, ‘but you can’t Apparate inside Hogwarts grounds so—’

 

‘I know, I know. Thanks for the present, Hermione, I’ll open it when I get back.’

 

Ron watched Harry leave and close the door behind him. Whatever the reason, Ron didn’t really mind that Harry had left Hermione and him alone.

 

‘It’s been too long,’ said Ron.

 

Hermione nodded. ‘I haven’t been more than a few days without seeing you since the summer before we were sixth-years. Tell me about your job.’ Hermione sat down on Ron’s bed.

 

‘Bloody boring. I tried to cheat and use my wand, but I couldn’t hold the spells long enough.’

 

‘So you use your muscles? That’s not a bad thing.’

 

‘It’s hot and sweaty.’ Ron watched a smile cross Hermione’s mouth. ‘What? You like that thought?’

 

Hermione shrugged.

 

‘Hot and sweaty? But Quidditch—?’

 

‘I don’t hate Quidditch as much as you think I do, especially when you were on the team.’

 

Ron sat down on his bed. ‘Can I open this?’

 

‘It’s yours, of course you can.’

 

The paper was slick and held together by Muggle tape. Ron ripped into it, tearing the paper and dropping it carelessly on the floor. He noticed Hermione shake her head, but he didn’t care. This was _his_ flat and he could litter if he wanted to.

 

‘I wasn’t sure if you were going to hang up your posters or not,’ said Hermione, ‘but I thought that if you did, it would go perfectly. Although, I suspected you might not, in an attempt to make your flat look more adult, and if that is the case, then since it’s in a frame—’

 

‘Stop talking.’

 

‘Oh.’ Hermione’s cheeks coloured. ‘Sorry.’

 

‘No, I didn’t mean ...’ Ron groaned. ‘It’s rather lovely. Oh, God, did I just say “lovely”?’

 

Hermione smiled, bit her bottom lip, and nodded. 

 

It was a picture frame, of him and her at a Chudley Cannons game summer before seventh year. They’d told Harry they would go with him to stay at the Dursleys’, but he had asked them to stay away for at least a week. They were sure he had his reasons; Hermione thought it was because he didn’t want to subject them to his family. She’d gone home for only a couple days before popping up at The Burrow. Mrs Weasley was _not_ going to let them go to a Quidditch match, but finally gave in when Bill said he’d accompany them. Tonks had come as well, dragging Lupin along with her and telling Ron and Bill how marvellous Charlie had always looked while playing for Gryffindor – not that she cheered for him since she hadn’t been Sorted into the same house (‘and not that you wouldn’t’ve looked marvellous as well playing Quidditch, Remus,’ she’d added, ‘but you don’t play and – _whoops_! Where’d that rock come from?’).

 

In the background of the picture, the Cannons were warming up, in bright orange uniforms, the Quaffle going back and forth. Hermione hadn’t known her picture was getting taken; Tonks had brought her wizard-camera along and snapped shots of everyone, especially of Lupin. Ron knew it was still when they were dancing around one another, unsure of what to do in front of people, having no idea what their relationship was. _Girlfriend_ was a term Ron had been afraid of. _Girlfriends_ gave stupid gold necklaces to their _boyfriends_ at holidays and Hermione wasn’t one of those girlfriend types, but he wanted her to be all his. 

 

So, they looked rather comfortable in the picture considering, Hermione’s arm looped through his, their elbows locked together. She was smiling and he was laughing and it was the last good memory either of them had before they began the hunt for the Horcruxes.

 

And of course now, Hermione was right. Had he put up his posters it would have gone perfectly with them, having been taken at a Cannons game and all. But he didn’t want to have the same room he had when he was a kid and since the picture was framed it had a more adult feel to it. 

 

‘Where’d you get it?’ Ron asked. ‘I don’t think I have any pictures of us. Some of you and me and Harry somewhere, maybe.’

 

‘I had to ask Tonks for it. Professor Lupin found it. He said Tonks is just as disorganised as she is clumsy.’

 

‘Poor Lupin.’

 

‘Anyway, I just stopped by to drop that off and look at your flat. It’s lovely, really. I’m so proud of you.’

 

‘Oh?’ Ron felt the back of his neck grow hot. 

 

‘Of course. You got a job, you have your own house – er, flat – and you’re very grown up. If you’d asked me last year if I thought it possible, I’m not sure what I would have said.’

 

‘You doubted—’

 

Hermione shook her head. ‘No, no,’ she interjected. ‘I didn’t mean – I didn’t doubt that you – I never thought you _wouldn’t_ get a job or anything. I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon. This is not coming out the way I wanted it to at all. Can’t we just go back to the part where I am proud of you and leave it at that?’

 

‘Well, all right,’ grumbled Ron. He propped the frame up on his bedside table next to his alarm clock. ‘I don’t have to report to the site until noon tomorrow. You could stay ...’

 

Hermione shook her head. ‘I can’t. Crookshanks is at home and I haven’t fed him dinner and Mum’s got this fish tank that I told her I’d clean ... But I will stay one night. In the future.’

 

‘Promise?’

 

‘Of course.’

 

Ron narrowed his eyes slightly.

 

‘You don’t believe me?’

 

‘No, I do, really, I do. A bit surprised, perhaps. I always kind of thought I’d have to pester you into doing the physical stuff. I figured you’d want to talk all the time – whoa, whoa, don’t give me that look. Shit. Not that I think you’re going to jump into bed when you spend the night, that’s not what I – fuck.’

 

Hermione snorted. ‘Think I’m eager?’

 

‘Um.’

 

‘You don’t have to answer that.’ Hermione sighed and clasped her hands together on her lap rather primly. ‘I suppose I understand what you mean. But Ron, _honestly_ , we’ve been together for over a year, haven’t we? You only just saw me without my shirt on for the first time a few nights ago. I’d say that we’ve been moving rather slowly, wouldn’t you?’

 

‘Yes.’

 

Hermione inched closer on the bed. ‘Aren’t you eager?’

 

‘Every bloody second; you’ve no idea.’

 

‘I bet I do.’ Hermione reached for his hand and laced their fingers together. ‘Look. This is a bit strange. We’re farther along in our relationship emotionally than we are physically, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t cherish the timeline of things.’

 

‘I’ve no idea what you’re on about.’

 

‘I mean, we shouldn’t “jump into bed” as you put it before we do everything that is supposed to come before that. There’s an order on how things should go. I could make you a list if you like?’

 

Ron sniggered. ‘No, thank you, that’s all right, I think I can figure out the order for myself.’

 

‘Good. But if you need one, ask. Because I love to write out a good list and this is a topic that greatly interests me.’

 

‘Oh Merlin,’ breathed Ron, unable to look at anything but Hermione’s mouth.

 

‘Do you still want to come with me to see my parents on holiday this weekend?’

 

‘Don’t talk about parents at a time like this! Not when we were discussing topics that interest you.’

 

‘It’s a valid question. I’m leaving Friday. I applied for a Portkey and the Ministry gave me a timeslot for half-six in the evening. You don’t work on weekends do you?’

 

‘Uh, no, not this weekend. Hermione, back to the topics that interest—’

 

‘Are you going to come or not?’

 

Ron groaned. ‘Sure, I’ll come. Where am I sleeping? On the sofa?’

 

‘Oh.’ Hermione swallowed and blushed. ‘They let a flat at the beach, you know, and it has two bedrooms.’

 

‘All right. Then, where are you going to sleep?’

 

‘In the second bedroom.’

 

‘What? Well, then where am I sleeping?’

 

‘In the second bedroom.’

 

‘Wha—?’

 

‘There’s two small beds there. Dad expects no magic to be used to enlarge either of them and we cannot be on the same bed at the same time. Rules, he said.’

 

Ron wasn’t sure what to say.

 

‘It’ll be fun, though,’ added Hermione quickly. ‘We can swim and walk on the beach and the sand is really soft there and very white and it’s not supposed to rain this weekend, though it’s the _beach_ and it rains rather considerably sometimes and—’

 

‘Stop talking,’ said Ron quietly, brushing a bit of fringe away from Hermione’s eyes. He hoped his calloused thumb wasn’t too rough against her skin. 

 

‘Right.’

 

‘I’ll go. Half-six for the Portkey?’

 

Hermione nodded. 

 

‘I’ll Apparate to your house, then, since I know where it is now.’

 

‘Good. Great.’

 

‘Are you nervous? I’ve already met your parents. I think your mum rather fancied me.’

 

Hermione laughed. ‘Well, one dinner is nothing like spending a whole weekend with them.’

 

‘It’ll be fine,’ said Ron. As soon as he said it, he wasn’t sure why he had. A whole weekend was drastically different than one dinner and just because they liked him over dinner didn’t mean they’d like him over breakfast or over lunch or over their daughter if they caught them going at it. And to be honest, Ron wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from touching her at least a little bit.

 

‘How many books are you going to bring?’ asked Ron.

 

‘What? None.’

 

‘Liar. How many?’

 

‘Oh, all right, I _am_ in the middle of this fascinating rendition of the thirty-second Goblin War as told by a wizard bystander. And I also have this book on advanced Transfiguration. I couldn’t use it at Hogwarts, but it’ll help me hone my skills. There are spells in that book far more advanced than the NEWT class and I think it’ll help for when we have to take the exam at the end of term.’

 

‘You’re going to study on holiday?’

 

‘Well ... yes. Of course. I _am_ Hermione, aren’t I? Studying is who I am, as you reminded me often enough while we were still students.’

 

‘Studying is not who you are; it’s just what you do.’

 

‘Hmmm. Do you think I’m boring?’

 

‘No. What? No, of course not.’

 

‘Are you sure? I think only a boring person would bring a Transfiguration book with them on holiday.’

 

‘Hermione, you’re the most un-boring person I know.’

 

‘Are you sure?’

 

‘Completely.’

 

Hermione visibly swallowed and wet her lips with her tongue.

 

‘Anyone who would write a list about the timeline of _things_ is not boring.’

 

Hermione smiled. ‘Thanks.’

 

‘Actually, I wouldn’t mind seeing that list. Just so I know what I should do next.’

 

‘We can’t, not while my parents are around.’

 

‘I meant now,’ said Ron. ‘If you can’t stay the night, you can at least stay for a few hours, yeah?’

 

‘Possibly.’

 

‘Good. Write me a list so I know what I get to see and touch next.’

 

XXXXXXX

 

Patrice Washburn had blonde hair that hung in loose curls halfway down her back. She was very lithe and had worn a pink t-shirt for the past five days. It didn’t take Ron to realise she was rather clever and willing to do hard work. Most of the workers for _Marcus & Dubois_ were wizards so she was desperately outnumbered.

 

She had a habit of wiping sweat off her forehead with the hem of her t-shirt, lifting it up and bending her neck down just enough to show Ron her flat stomach, but not enough to show him anything above that. He wondered if she ever did it in front of anyone else or just him.

 

The guilt swam around in his stomach whenever he looked at her. He didn’t mean to. She was practically stripping in front of him. Even if she did strip, and fully, nothing she could show him could compare to Hermione.

 

As he lifted a large slab of broken wood, he thought of the list she’d written out. She’d written down several four-letter words that made even Ron blush. He never knew Hermione could be so naughty – no, not naughty. Naughty was a word for a three-year-old when they break the jar full of chocolate biscuits and then eat all the evidence and hide the broken pieces in a drawer. What Hermione had written bordered on _dirty_.

 

Ron never knew the written word could turn him on so much.

 

The house he was working on was just a pile of rubble nearly nine feet high. There was a quiet reverence when he worked, as though the house itself was dead and he didn’t want to disturb its grave. A family used to live there, cook and eat there, sleep and play. They probably laughed and cried and hugged, just like his family, and now their house was a mound of rot. 

 

Ron had experienced the war. He’d fought – had _been_ fighting since the chess set first year. Still, there was a slight unreal feeling about everything, as though one day his brother and dad would resurface and engulf him in bone-crushing hugs and start talking about Quidditch and that long-lost record of the Weird Sisters. Even now, as he worked on the site, it was almost as if he wasn’t actually working, but watching himself lift and sort debris. All the destruction was evidence that the war had actually taken place, but Ron wasn’t quite ready to face and accept everything that had happened.

 

‘Here, let me help you.’

 

Ron looked up. Patrice stood in front of him, bending down to lift the other end of the wood.

 

‘It looks heavy.’

 

‘It’s not so bad.’

 

They carried the wood to the pile of debris that could be used to rebuild once everything was cleared out. The site they were working on today used to be a house. Death Eaters destroyed it, demolished the whole thing with only two or three curses. Next to the pile of wood and stone that had once been the outer walls and foundation of the house, was a pile of possessions. On top of that second pile, several red letters floated in the air, flashing _Hanover_ , the name of the family who used to live in the house. Hopefully they could find the Hanovers and return their property to them. If not, it would all go to auction to raise money for tools and supplies to rebuild the rest of Hogsmeade.

 

‘It’s very hot, isn’t it?’

 

Ron knew what that comment meant. More stomach. He averted his eyes and looked up towards the sky. The sun hung low, but the Forbidden Forest was so far away that the trees couldn’t provide any shade. He was sweaty and his t-shirt clung to his chest and back like a second skin. 

 

‘I wish Mr Dubois would give us the afternoon off. I tried to convince him earlier.’

 

‘What’d he say?’

 

‘ _Je_ _ne_ _sais_ _pas_.’

 

Ron tried not to roll his eyes. ‘What does that mean?’

 

‘It means, he didn’t know. I speak French. He’s so much easier to understand when you simply talk to him in French.’

 

Ron tried to look at Patrice through Hermione’s eyes. What would she think of this girl? He wondered if she’d be as jealous of Patrice as he used to be of Viktor. Something told him that Patrice was trying to impress him; he knew Hermione well enough to know that’s exactly what she would say. He wasn’t sure if he agreed or not, but she was probably right. This was something to be proud of – realising a girl was trying to impress him! Ron knew he wasn’t always thick.

 

‘My girlfriend speaks French,’ said Ron and inwardly kicked himself because Hermione definitely did not speak fluent French.

 

‘Oh? I figured you had a girlfriend.’

 

‘Um. Yes.’

 

‘For how long?’

 

‘Dunno,’ said Ron, ‘forever.’

 

Patrice smiled. ‘That’s a long time.’

 

‘Well, for a year, but I reckon it’s been much longer than that if you want to get into technicalities.’

 

‘What kind of technicalities?’

 

‘Er. My ex-girlfriend and I pretty much broke up because of her.’

 

Patrice’s smile widened. ‘So you’re not monogamous.’ It did not sound like a question.

 

‘What? No, I am. Completely. Utterly.’

 

‘But you just said—’

 

‘I know, but that wasn’t how it – you’re twisting my words.’

 

‘I’m sorry. I was just interested in your girlfriend. What’s her name?’

 

‘Hermione Granger.’

 

‘Oh!’ squealed Patrice. ‘Of course! She helped you end the war!’

 

‘I don’t think I’d quite put it that way—’

 

‘Though I am awfully sorry to hear about your friend. The one with the scar.’

 

Ron tried very hard not to laugh. As if she didn’t know _Harry Potter’s_ name.

 

‘I think you’re one of the bravest men I’ve ever heard of.’

 

‘Really? Thanks.’ 

 

Patrice stepped over to him and placed her hand on his upper arm. ‘Really brave.’

 

‘Er ...’

 

Somewhere behind Ron, someone cleared their throat and cough. Ron whirled around, only he didn’t see anyone, but a piece of debris moved on its own and it was clear what was going on.

 

‘Excuse me, I’ll be right back.’

 

Ron pulled himself out of Patrice’s grasp and jogged away from the site. When he was sure he was far enough away not to be overheard, he called out, ‘Harry! I know you’re here. What the fuck, mate?’

 

Ron hoped no one was watching as his shirt sleeve was tugged and he was pulled over between two buildings.

 

‘Take off the cloak.’

 

Harry’s head appeared midair. He grinned. ‘Hi.’

 

‘Hi.’

 

‘So, er, how’re you?’

 

‘You look like one of those ridiculous Muggle toys your cousin had, with your head just floating like that and that stupid grin on your face.’

 

‘Oh, Dudley’s bobble heads? Piers gave him some when he went to the States a couple summers ago.’

 

‘Bubble heads. Right, sure. What are you doing?’

 

‘I got bored so I thought I’d come see what your job is like.’

 

‘Aw, that’s sweet. You don’t have to check up on me, y’know.’

 

‘I wasn’t. I was bored. You seem to work hard.’

 

‘Yeah.’

 

‘And Patrice looks like an _awfully_ nice girl,’ added Harry with a snigger. ‘Since when does Hermione speak French?’

 

‘You don’t know what it’s like!’ wailed Ron. ‘She keeps showing me her stomach and it was the first opportunity I had to say anything about Hermione. I think she wants me to try to pull her.’

 

‘Who, Hermione?’

 

‘No! Patrice!’

 

‘Well, if you pull her, don’t tell Hermione,’ Harry joked.

 

‘Shut up, Harry, if I’m going to pull anyone, it’ll be Hermi – y’know what? Never mind.’

 

‘Didn’t mean to hack you off.’

 

Ron shook his head. ‘You didn’t. I’m tired is all. You need a job, Harry, so you can stop stalking me.’

 

‘I’m not stalking—’

 

‘I know you think that, but it really must stop.’

 

‘It’s only ‘cause I love you so,’ mocked Harry, glaring at Ron.

 

‘Suppose Patrice would leave me alone if I told her I had a male stalker?’

 

‘No, I think she’d want to join.’

 

‘Ah, probably right.’ Ron laughed. ‘I should probably get back to—’

 

A sudden shrill scream reached Ron’s ears and he immediately stopped talking. He looked at Harry and they both bolted out of the alleyway and back towards the site. Ron could hear Harry, all five-foot-eight of invisibility cloak, breathing heavily behind him as they ran.

 

‘What is it?’ Ron panted, trying to catch his breath.

 

‘ _That_ ,’ said Patrice, pointing to a small hole they’d created in the debris.

 

Ron took a few steps towards the wrecked house and nearly tripped over his feet when he saw a pair of grey, lifeless eyes looking blankly up at him.

 

XXXXXXX

 

**To Be Continued ...**

 

XXXXXXX

 

A/N: Thank you to **doraemon** for the incredibly fast beta. I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter.


	7. Forty-Two Flaws

XXXXXXX

 

**Chapter Seven: Forty-Two Flaws**

 

XXXXXXX

 

There was something called _okra_ on his plate. It was green and indeed very awkward. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but Hermione said it was a vegetable (though, he did sort of doubt her) and that it tasted really good with the courgettes, tomatoes, and red capsicums, especially in the something-or-other sauce her mum had cooked them in. He’d never had okra before and he was sure it tasted perfectly fine, but his mouth wasn’t exactly working tonight. The local market at the beach imported them from the southern States. Normally Ron would’ve been impressed, but tonight he couldn’t summon the energy to even pretend he was.

 

‘Ron, what’s _wrong_?’ Hermione whispered sharply in his ear as her father got up, saying something about kitchen and that bottle of wine. Her mother was doing a good job of pretending Ron wasn’t acting peculiar. 

 

‘Nothing.’

 

‘Bollocks.’

 

Hearing Hermione say _bollocks_ was enough to make him fall off his chair. Luckily, he had enough wits about him to remain seated. Sooner or later he’d have to tell Hermione what the hell was the matter with him.

 

‘Wine, Ron?’ asked Hermione’s father when he walked back into the small dining room.

 

‘Please, yes.’

 

Hermione eyed him. She asked him again, loud enough for her parents to hear, ‘What’s _wrong_?’

 

All three Grangers stared at him, making the level of awkwardness in the room increase tenfold. He glanced up at Mr and Mrs Granger’s plates and realised they had eaten all their dinner. Hermione’s plate was clear as well, save one piece of the squishy yellow vegetable. His was the only one still piled with food and Ron had never been one to turn down food before.

 

‘I’m sorry. Work today was ...’

 

Hermione turned in her chair to face him. On the other side of the table, her parents exchanged worried glances.

 

‘What do you do, Ron?’ Mr Granger asked.

 

‘He’s working to clear out all the houses and old business buildings in order to rebuild Hogsmeade – which is the town next to Hogwarts,’ Hermione answered, keeping her eyes on Ron. ‘What happened?’

 

‘Have you ever seen a dead body before?’ 

 

The silence from the Grangers that followed made Ron cringe. Everything else was amplified: the soft clang of Mr Granger’s wine glass as he set it down, the surprised smack of Mrs Granger’s lips as she opened her mouth in shock, and the quick intake of breath by Hermione.

 

Ron dropped his fork and pushed his plate away. ‘I’m sorry I’m being a rotten guest. I suppose I shouldn’t’ve come.’

 

‘No, no,’ said Hermione. ‘Come on, let’s go for a walk.’ She took Ron’s hand and pulled him out of his chair. ‘We’ll just be down at the beach, if you need us.’

 

‘Sure, honey,’ replied Mrs Granger.

 

Ron allowed Hermione to lead him outside and down a gravel path through a patch of tall grass. His shoes sunk into the soft, white sand, but Hermione kept walking until the sand became hard and brown from the ocean. The waves were very quiet, creeping up towards them as they stood, kissing the soles of their shoes before retreating back to the body of ocean. Ron parted his lips to breathe in deeply and the beach air entered his mouth, tasting wet and salty. The water in front of him looked as though it would never end. It was dark blue, save a patch of pink and red in the middle from the reflection of the setting sun. Horns and bells from Muggle boats sounded in the distance, so far away they looked like toys. There was a serene, calming feel to the beach. Several metres away was a couple, holding hands and walking through the waves, the water up to their knees. Otherwise, Ron and Hermione were alone.

 

He felt an overwhelming need to hold her tightly and bury his face in her neck, knotting his fingers in her hair, and never letting go. But the only move he made was to sit down abruptly, as though his knees had completely given out.

 

Hermione was quick to follow, folding her legs underneath her as she leaned towards him, a hand on his thigh.

 

‘A dead body, Ron?’

 

Ron nodded. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against his lids. ‘I didn’t find it, but I saw it.’

 

‘Who found it?’

 

‘This witch I’m partnered with. Named, er ...’ Ron swallowed and faltered for the word. ‘Patrice. She’s really clever, but she annoys the bloody piss out of me.’

 

‘Oh?’

 

‘Well, yeah, she usually doesn’t shut up and I have to stand there and pretend I’m interested in what she’s saying. A bit like Lavender, actually.’ Ron paused. ‘Or, nothing – _nothing at all_ – like Lavender. Never mind. Shit.’

 

‘Ron. It’s all right. So, she found someone?’

 

‘Buried. For months. There were these eyes, staring at me, ‘cept they weren’t, y’know, actually staring. It felt like someone punched me right in the gut.’

 

‘I’m sorry.’

 

‘It’s like ... it was someone. I dunno who – I didn’t stick around for someone from the Ministry to come and – we weren’t supposed to touch it or anything in case the Ministry wanted to take pictures or whatever it is they do.’

 

‘Collect evidence,’ offered Hermione.

 

‘Sure. I stayed for a bit, an hour – the Ministry doesn’t care about bodies they know were killed by Death Eaters anymore, I think. Could’ve been my dad.’

 

‘What?’

 

‘Well, when Dad was killed, he was there for almost a day before someone came and took the – the – you know.’

 

‘Dead bodies,’ whispered Hermione.

 

‘Yeah. So it could’ve been my dad – or well, ‘cause they just left him lying there in Hogsmeade, the dead body. After the final battle, we all had to get looked at first. Go to St Mungo’s, get poked and prodded at, drink all those disgusting concoctions.’

 

‘Healing Potions.’

 

‘Yeah. Hermione ... I never really got to look at my dad or brothers. I sort-of got a glance at Luna, but no one really – I didn’t _see_ them. I guess I didn’t know how _gone_ they looked. Hard and stiff and pale and stuff. That’s how everyone looked. Dad, Percy ... Charlie and Fred – and our friends.’

 

‘Luna,’ said Hermione. ‘Ernie. Kingsley. Snape.’ She choked on the last name, ‘Hagrid,’ and shut her eyes tightly. ‘It’ll only have been one month since it happened this coming Monday.’ She opened her eyes again. ‘That’s not a lot of time. I imagine seeing a dead body – would be – it hasn’t really been long at all and – _damn_.’

 

‘Damn?’

 

‘I don’t know what to say. I’m usually the one who’s good with words. I really liked your dad, you know. He was always so fantastic towards me and my parents. They liked him as well. Sometimes I don’t think I have the right to be so upset still. My family is all safe, but you – and you’re handling it pretty well.’

 

‘I’m not handling it at all. I’m not dealing with it at all,’ admitted Ron. ‘I just pretend it hasn’t happened.’

 

‘That’s not – really?’

 

Ron shook his head. ‘No. Things that should have happened won’t now and I don’t really – I can’t quite – accept it. Yet.’

 

‘What should have happened?’

 

‘In the future I mean. Like ...’ Ron felt the tips of his ears heat up. ‘How Fred was planning on getting me drunk for the first time – I mean, y’know, _drunk_ , not just buzzed on Butterbeer or Muggle wine, but _pissed_. And Dad would’ve made some soppy speech whenever I get married and embarrass me, but it would’ve been all right ‘cause he’s my dad and that’s just how he is. I think Luna kinda fancied me—’

 

Hermione snorted.

 

‘—right? And she’s gone too, which feels rather odd that I even brought her up, but.’ Ron cleared his throat. ‘That dead body, Hermione, was ... I can’t describe it. But people _died_ and I should know this because half my family is gone.’

 

‘Would it have been easier to see the dead man today if you’d been able to see your family before you were taken to St Mungo’s?’

 

‘Dunno. Maybe. But they were out there for hours before anyone came to get them.’

 

‘They weren’t forgot, Ron. There were so many injuries and so many Death Eaters that had to be arrested. Do you want to go back? To the graveyard? Maybe you can accept it and say goodbye if you see their names on the stones?’

 

Ron shrugged. ‘I don’t think I need to see them. I know they’re dead.’

 

‘Well, yes, but knowledge and acceptance are diff—’

 

‘No. I don’t want to go.’ Ron shifted and wrapped his arms around Hermione. Her hands flattened against his back and she pulled him towards her, easing them both down onto the sand. He rested his head on her chest, her left breast a very nice pillow under his ear. A wet spot grew on the cotton of her shirt and it took Ron a few moments to figure out they were from tears that had begun to spill from the corners of his eyes.

 

‘I talked about it with Ginny once,’ said Ron. ‘It’s not as though I just pretend they’re not dead. I know they are. I’m rather furious that I still have to deal with this. It’s bullshit.’

 

‘Ron.’

 

‘When the final battle was over and You Know Who gone, we were supposed to be done with this. But all the after-effects – it’s everywhere. Like a constant fucking reminder or something. I don’t want to think about them being gone. I’d rather pretend that it never happened.’

 

‘Ron, I think you’re teetering between the first two stages of grief.’

 

‘If this is more Muggle sikey, you know I won’t understand.’

 

‘Psychology,’ corrected Hermione. ‘Denial is first and then anger. You’re still rather in denial, but you’re getting angry. This is good. This is the road to acceptance.’

 

‘Hermione, I don’t want to talk about this anymore,’ said Ron, pushing his face into her shirt. ‘I don’t want to.’ It came out as a garbled mumble.

 

Hermione shh’ed him and he felt rather like a child, having to be soothed and shushed, with hands rubbing patterns into his back and whispers in his ear like a lullaby. This was comfort; it was as though Hermione had all the answers to questions he didn’t even know he wanted to ask. Things seemed more perfect when she was around and the need for her had never been so apparent.

 

The hem of his trousers grew wet from the waves as they began to eat their way through more sand as the night tide readied itself to commence. He knew he couldn’t lay here forever, holding on to Hermione like an anchor, so he slowly extracted himself from her grip, leaning on his elbows, looking at her with hungry eyes. 

 

‘Ron, you’re going to have to deal with this one day.’

 

Ron shrugged.

 

‘Look, I’m serious. One day you’re going to brood and I won’t be around to snap you out of it.’

 

‘Why wouldn’t you be there?’

 

Hermione shrugged. ‘Work. Or perhaps I’m on holiday with my parents without you. There could be any number of things.’

 

Ron didn’t respond.

 

‘We should go back,’ said Hermione after another few minutes. ‘My dad brought some movies he and Mum like and there were a couple I thought you wouldn’t mind sitting through. It’s a Muggle thing, but—’

 

‘What’s a movie?’

 

‘Oh. It’s like a play,’ she replied, ‘only it’s been recorded onto a disc that you can watch over and over again.’

 

‘Recorded how?’

 

‘A bit like you would record music – you have records at your house, don’t you?’

 

Ron nodded. 

 

‘Like that. Only with images _and_ sounds. I suppose I don’t know how to explain it properly.’

 

‘Can’t I kiss you before we go pretending to be Muggles?’

 

Hermione’s tongue swept across her lips and she nodded. Ron met her mouth, kissing her slowly. His hand crept under her t-shirt and rested on her stomach; he could feel the indent of her naval under his palm. The beach had been so deserted before, Ron didn’t think anything of snogging his girlfriend in the open until somewhere behind them several people whistled and catcalled.

 

Pushing him away, Hermione sat up quickly, her face a violent shade of red. 

 

Ron smirked. ‘At least it wasn’t your parents who caught us,’ he joked.

 

‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that.’

 

Ron’s head whirled around to see Mrs Granger standing barefoot not too far away, looking either very amused or very annoyed. Ron hoped it was the first.

 

‘Your dad wondered if you were all right. I suppose I’ll go tell him you’re doing perfectly well and that you’ll be back at the house shortly? Once you’ve ... calmed down?’

 

Hermione cleared her throat. ‘Yes, of course.’

 

Mrs Granger pressed her lips tightly together, nodded, and turned around to walk back up the path away from the beach.

 

‘Oh my God,’ muttered Ron, most definitely more humiliated than he ever had before.

 

‘It’s all right. Mum likes you.’

 

‘Yeah, but she probably likes my hands where she can see them, too.’

 

Hermione smiled. 

 

‘’S’not my fault I can’t keep my hands off you. Just a flaw I have, I s’pose.’

 

‘Oh, a flaw?’

 

‘One of the very few flaws.’

 

‘Remember that time in sixth year when I made the list of all your flaws?’

 

Ron grinned. ‘Yeah. You came up with forty-two of them. I was a git that year.’

 

‘I didn’t really help matters either. Come on, we should go back.’

 

They both got to their feet and walked side-by-side back up the beach. When they reached the door to her parents’ place, Ron stopped Hermione, brushing his hand through the back of her hair.

 

‘You’ve got sand in your hair,’ he explained and she kissed him on the cheek and went back inside.

 

XXXXXXX

 

The rest of the weekend went smoothly. After his talk and small cry on Hermione’s shirt, Ron felt better – at least good enough to pretend to be back to his old self, doing his best to joke with her father and charm her mother.

 

But now it was Monday and he was back at work. His muscles ached from hauling more debris from the Hanover house. The Ministry had come to take the body away, doing Merlin knows what to it to find out the cause of death. There was a pool going on with the other workers to see what the exact cause was, but Ron refused to play. He claimed he just didn’t have the spare three Galleons, but even if he had, he didn’t want to participate in that sick game. What if they’d found someone from his family or one of his friends? Would they have sat around, thinking of terrible curses and placing bets?

 

With a loud _oof_ , Ron dropped the last of the debris into the appropriate pile and turned to look at the empty lot. It was a large lot and the Hanover house must have been rather impressive when it stood. This strip of road had been all wizard houses and one small restaurant. The restaurant was the only thing that now stood, and probably only because it had been owned by a pureblood family for nearly a hundred years.

 

‘You look tired.’

 

‘Yeah.’ Ron inwardly groaned. He knew that voice. Patrice. She was harmless, but he wasn’t used to fending off girls and part of him thought that perhaps she was only interested because he was considered a hero of the war. Today she had on a pale pink shirt worn loose over a pair of jeans with holes in the knees.

 

‘D’you want to get some lunch? Rosmerta always has these really great cheese sandwiches on Mondays.’

 

‘Er—’

 

‘It’ll be my treat.’

 

Patrice tossed her blonde plait over her shoulder and smiled. She _was_ nice and it was only lunch. Ron agreed and walked with her towards the Three Broomsticks. The pub was more crowded than usual, with six or seven occupied tables. They ordered food and drinks up front and waited as Madam Rosmerta pulled a couple of Butterbeers out from beneath the bar. Ron followed Patrice to an empty table and sat across from her. His stomach knotted itself, which was silly because lunch didn’t mean anything. There was nothing to feel guilty about. He’d never, ever cheat on Hermione and she probably wouldn’t be jealous anyway if he told her about it. Which he would ... wouldn’t he?

 

‘You look sunburnt,’ observed Patrice.

 

One of Ron’s hands absentmindedly touched his nose. ‘Oh, right. I spent the weekend at the beach.’

 

‘Oh, holiday?’

 

‘Guess so. My girlfriend’s parents were there and invited us for a visit.’

 

‘That must’ve been nice. So is it true that she’s unbelievably clever?’

 

‘Who?’

 

‘Your girlfriend, silly,’ giggled Patrice as she took a sip of her Butterbeer.

 

‘Yeah, very.’

 

‘I read in _Witch Weekly_ that she was involved in a love triangle during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. I remember the Tournament – I was a seventh-year when it was going on, but I don’t remember the scandal. Though, I wasn’t really interested in the Tournament anyway. I was in Ravenclaw. You know, always studying.’

 

‘Er, right. Wait, no. There was no triangle.’

 

‘Oh? I thought perhaps she was involved with both Potter and Krum? I would have figured Potter to win out in the end. He did get the Cup and everything. Did you steal her away from him?’

 

‘What? No. _Witch Weekly_ is complete rubbish.’

 

‘It is? What’s the real story, then?’

 

Ron took an extra long drink from his Butterbeer bottle, letting his brain zoom through possible answers.

 

‘She was never involved with Harry,’ he said first. ‘And I _suppose_ she dated Krum, but only until he went back to Bulgaria. She’s been with _me_ since last summer.’

 

‘Good on you.’

 

‘Yeah.’

 

‘You must’ve been so worried all the time about her. Having your girlfriend fight along side you.’

 

‘Er, yeah. Obviously. There wasn’t really a lot of time to think about anything other than fighting.’

 

‘So you weren’t worried?’

 

‘Of course I was! I only meant that it’s quite different than you’d expect. You’re focused on the fighting and she was always in my head, but—’

 

‘She’s actually quite pretty, in the pictures that I’ve seen.’

 

Ron blinked. ‘What? Yeah, yeah she is, very pretty.’

 

‘I can’t imagine my best friend dying. You seem to be handling it rather well.’

 

‘Oh, right, yes, well. Shit happens, I suppose.’ 

 

_Oh, Christ_ , thought Ron, _where is that food?_ He was growing tired of Patrice already and her questions about his friends.

 

‘Is your brother going to keep up the joke shop?’

 

‘Oh, probably. He still has some old employees working there. You might remember a couple of them from Hogwarts – Lee Jordan and Verity Something-or-Other. They’ve been keeping it up the past month or so ...’ Ron stopped talking when he realised that Patrice’s eyes had strayed away from him and over towards the bar.

 

‘Isn’t that _her_?’

 

Ron turned his head around. He felt rather confused; sure enough, his girlfriend was standing up front and talking to Rosmerta. He knew Hermione’s hair and face and body anywhere, yet his confusion made him wonder whether the pretty girl was someone else.

 

‘I’ll be right back ...’

 

Patrice sat back in her chair and sipped on her drink, a smile playing at her mouth. Ron faltered for a moment, wondering what the look meant. As he did so, Hermione had seen him and walked on over. Something cold washed over his entire body, some new feeling he’d never experienced. It was bigger than guilt. Dread, perhaps.

 

‘Hi, Ron,’ said Hermione breezily. She glanced at Patrice, but was able to keep a calm smile on her face. Ron wondered how quickly he could throw up a Shield Charm if Hermione decided to hex him ...

 

‘Hi,’ replied Ron, clearing his throat. ‘What – what’re you doing here?’

 

‘Oh. Well, I’m picking up some lunch to go.’

 

‘That looks like a lot of food for one person,’ said Patrice, nodding towards the large bag in Hermione’s hand.

 

Hermione glanced at the blonde girl. ‘It’s not only for me.’

 

‘Who’re you eating lunch with? Viktor?’

 

Hermione blinked, a surprised look crossing her face. ‘Excuse me?’

 

‘Oh – I read a lot of the _Daily Prophet_ ’s games and sports sections. It reported he was in town.’

 

Ron’s mouth fell open. Hermione certainly had _not_ told him that bit of info. He looked at her, the cold dread turning to hot anger.

 

‘And,’ continued Patrice, ‘I remember that you dated him back at Hogwarts. Of course, I didn’t believe the rumours until the whole lake thing, where he had to save you from the mermaids. It sounds so romantic, being saved by someone as rich and famous as he.’

 

‘Oh. I don’t really think he’s rich,’ said Hermione, ‘and I don’t think I would call our friendship “dating” either.’

 

‘But you _are_ seeing him for lunch, aren’t you?’

 

Hermione shrugged. ‘I had no idea he was in town. I haven’t written to him in over a year. No,’ she said, turning her attention back to Ron, ‘I was planning on eating at your flat, actually.’

 

‘I thought you lived alone,’ said Patrice.

 

Ron swallowed. There was simply too much going on! He wasn’t sure if he should still be feeling angry; Hermione obviously wasn’t talking to Krum since she didn’t know he was in town. And the dread had been ebbing away because she didn’t seem annoyed that he was having lunch with another girl. Of course, the perpetual feeling of annoyance whenever Patrice was around still lingered.

 

‘Er,’ said Ron.

 

Hermione snorted. ‘He does, but a friend of ours is visiting. James’ son.’

 

Ron coughed. ‘Right. James’ son.’

 

‘I would have owled you to see if you wanted to join, but I haven’t really spent time with ... him ... alone, you know, since he started dating ... that new girl.’

 

Ron nodded. ‘Right. No, it’s fine.’ 

 

‘He’s still my best friend and I need to make time for him.’ Hermione sighed. ‘I’m afraid he’ll see even less of me when I start working. Your mother sent me an owl this morning, wanting to make sure I had the both of you at The Burrow tomorrow for Ginny’s birthday.’

 

‘I completely forgot.’

 

‘I know.’ Hermione offered him a warm smile. She kept her eyes on him for several moments before rolling them and turning to Patrice. ‘I’m Hermione.’

 

She held out her hand. Patrice looked at it as though it might bite her nose.

 

Hermione dropped her hand and rolled her eyes again.

 

‘Sorry!’ cried Ron. ‘We worked together on the Hanover house. Last week I didn’t really take lunch, but ...’ He trailed off with a shrug. ‘Oh, she’s Patrice.’

 

‘We were just talking about his brothers and poor Harry Potter, God rest his soul,’ said Patrice, laying the charm on thick, as though she hadn’t just refused to shake Hermione’s hand. ‘I can’t _imagine_ what the war was like. It must have been _terrible_. Ron was so brave.’

 

Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it, but Ron knew better than to think she was at a loss for words. She was trying not to say something rude and snappish.

 

‘Er, can I talk to you?’ asked Ron, pushing his chair back and standing up. ‘I’ll walk you out.’

 

Hermione nodded.

 

Ron followed her out the pub, watching her hips move back and forth in her grey trousers. She looked good.

 

‘ _I’m sorry_!’ he cried as soon as they were outside.

 

Hermione turned around and raised her eyebrows. ‘On a date?’

 

‘ _No!_ ’

 

‘She’s quite pretty.’

 

‘I don’t think—’

 

‘Has she asked for your autograph yet?’

 

‘I – what?’

 

Hermione smirked. ‘I mean, because you were _so brave_ and everything during the war.’

 

Ron frowned and Hermione laughed. She set her bag of food down on the ground.

 

‘Look,’ she said, ‘I trust you. I’m sure she’s simply a co-worker with bad taste in hair dye.’

 

‘I think she wants me because I’m kind of, a little bit famous now,’ blurted Ron. ‘I kind of get that, y’know, vibe from her. I don’t really think I’m that nice to her. I kind of ignore her a lot, but she always knows the right spells to use to move shit around when we’re working.’ Ron let out a disgruntled sigh. ‘But bloody hell, Hermione, she’s read every article written about us.’

 

Hermione smiled and placed her hands on Ron’s cheeks. She stood on her toes and kissed his mouth softly.

 

‘It’s all right.’

 

‘You’re not ... jealous?’

 

Hermione shook her head. ‘No. And I’m really eating lunch with Harry and I _really_ had no idea Viktor was in town.’

 

‘Oh. _Krum_. I’d forgot about that.’ 

 

‘Silly, no you didn’t, but Ron – I would have told you if I was going to see him. I would have let you know if I was still writing to him. I know you didn’t like when I did, even after we were together, so I stopped.’

 

‘You stopped?’

 

‘Of course.’ Hermione dropped her hands from Ron’s face and clasped them in front of her. ‘Viktor was only ever my friend, but you’re my boyfriend. That’s more important to me. It didn’t seem worth the argument to continue to write him and it certainly wasn’t worth the monumental row we would’ve had if I’d done it behind your back and you’d found out.’

 

‘Wow,’ said Ron, wearing a silly grin on his face. ‘I didn’t know.’

 

‘Of course not. Look, I’m going to take this to your flat and have lunch with Harry. Don’t worry,’ she said with a wink, ‘we’re not going to sit around and gossip about you the _whole_ time, only part. You go back in and eat with your girlfriend.’

 

‘She’s not—’

 

‘If she asks for your autograph, tell her you charge a Galleon a letter.’

 

‘So you’re not angry?’

 

‘Ron, no!’ Hermione picked up her bag of food and gave him another smile. ‘I have dinner plans tonight so I can’t see you, but I’ll Apparate tomorrow around five and we can leave for The Burrow together. Is that all right?’

 

‘Dinner plans?’

 

‘With Flitwick,’ said Hermione. ‘Jealous?’

 

‘Well ... he is at the perfect height to—’

 

‘ _Ron!_ ’ cried Hermione, sounding truly scandalised. ‘I can _not_ believe—’

 

‘I’m kidding.’

 

‘We’re going to discuss things I need to know as a professor. Or Junior Professor. That’s what they’re going to call me.’

 

‘Oh, you _have_ to let me snog you in the library when you start working there.’

 

Hermione looked puzzled. ‘Really? Why?’

 

‘I’ve always wanted to snog you in the library. Seems so wrong somehow, amongst all your friends, the books.’

 

Hermione laughed. ‘Oh, Ron! Perhaps _you_ should write _me_ a list – of all those fantasies you have. There’s so many I can’t keep up.’

 

Ron knew he looked shocked and he listened to Hermione’s laughter as he went back into the Three Broomsticks.

 

XXXXXXX

 

After lunch, Ron walked in silence ( _thank God_ , he thought) back towards the street they were working on. Hermione was so perfect. He knew it already, but couldn’t help thinking it again. It did bother him a bit that she wasn’t jealous, but it seemed more important that she trusted him. And suggesting that _he_ write a list? She was brilliant, absolutely fantastic.

 

Last week he’d told her he loved her. He meant it, too; he only wished he told her again today, before she left to go have lunch with Harry.

 

Ron and Patrice were joined by another girl that afternoon. She had long black hair braided into several thin plaits, and wore extremely baggy clothes. Her name was Allegra Baddock and Ron only vaguely recognised her as having been a student at Hogwarts at some point while he was there.

 

‘My last year was in ’92,’ she said. ‘My parents died fighting in the war and my brother’s still at Hogwarts now.’ She looked Ron up and down, as though sizing him up. ‘ _Slytherin_ ,’ she sneered. ‘Me and my brother, that is. The importance of which house you get sorted into lasts a lifetime. You have to make sure you get into the right one. Unfortunately, as of late, it is mattering less and less since so many businesses were destroyed. One day I’ll be back on top. There’s a reason why most Slytherins are successful and other houses ... aren’t.

 

‘Oh, so you’re lowering yourself to even talking to me, are you? Since you’re a mighty _Slytherin_ and I’m just a Gryffindor _blood traitor_.’

 

‘You said it, not me.’

 

‘Allegra, don’t get in my fucking way,’ snapped Ron, bending down to pick up the first bit of wood from another one of the destroyed houses. This new house was the Yaxley house and if Ron didn’t know better, he would say that the rubble of the house looked well-stacked, as if it had been blasted into tiny pieces and then strategically placed. ‘I don’t have time for inner-house rivalries anymore.’

 

‘Oh, sure, because this is such important work. Need to keep your head in the game.’

 

Ron tossed the wood behind him. ‘This _is_ important. Without us, wizarding Britain doesn’t get rebuilt.’

 

‘Say, Ron—’ began Patrice, trying to interrupt.

 

‘The Ministry took _everything_ we had because our parents were suspected Death Eaters and here I am reduced to pick up rubbish with my hands like a common Muggle. This is not important work. I couldn’t give a shit if Hogsmeade is ever rebuilt.’

 

‘I’ve known you five minutes and you’re just standing there, complaining.’

 

‘No, really, listen—’

 

But Patrice was interrupted again.

 

‘So it’s all about the Galleons,’ said Ron. ‘Well, that’s nice.’

 

‘Of course it’s about the Galleons. D’you think I’d be here if I wasn’t getting thirty of them a week?’

 

Ron tossed a second bit of debris behind him. ‘You’re such a Slytherin.’

 

‘Don’t say it like it’s an insult,’ snapped Allegra. ‘Because it’s not.’

 

Ron rolled his eyes and reached down for the next piece of wood.

 

‘ _RON!_ ’ cried Patrice. ‘ _STOP!_ ’

 

Whatever Patrice had been trying to warn Ron against fell upon deaf ears. A loud explosion bolted through the air and they were engulfed by a cloud of thick, green smoke. The fumes entered Ron’s nostrils as he breathed, and he could feel them running into his lungs, filling them with smoke. He couldn’t breathe. He felt as though he was choking. He tried to cough, but he couldn’t. His fingers clawed at his throat, as though trying to scratch an airway open. His brain wasn’t working properly; he had flashes of pictures of white tombs with his name engraved before his eyes. He forgot to remind Hermione today that he loved her. Frantically, he looked around for help, but all he could see was the green fog. 

 

And, then, he saw nothing at all.

 

XXXXXXX

 

**To Be Continued ...**

 

XXXXXXX


	8. Eleven Familiar Faces

XXXXXXX

 

**Chapter Eight: Eleven Familiar Faces**

 

XXXXXXX

 

Ron fell.  He fell and kept falling – for what seemed like an hour, he flew downwards, towards a black nothingness.  Wind blew his hair back and his shirt got caught about his underarms as his legs kicked the empty air below him.  Still, he kept falling.

 

And then.  He landed.

 

Ron groaned and held his head; a great, mind-numbing pain shot through his brain and proceeded to beat his forehead with what felt like a thousand sharp knives.  There was no way this was anything except Hell.  Ron opened his eyes and looked around.  He wasn’t exactly sure what this place was.  There was a castle in front of him.  It was white, with large towers and an entryway four stories high.  The stone was smooth as marble and the glass of every window was a different colour.  One tower rose higher than the rest, with white windows, and a white flag beat against the wind at the very top.  Ron felt curiosity surround him, a need to see what was in that tower.

 

‘Uuugggh,’ groaned Ron again as he hoisted himself up and stood on wobbly legs.  The doors were only a few metres away and he hoped he could get to them without falling over.  He reached a shaky hand out to the door handle and pulled.  Locked.  Ron banged his fist against the door, hoping his knocking would be loud enough for someone inside to answer.  Although, if this was Hell, he wasn’t sure he wanted someone to answer.  His head was still throbbing.

 

The door opened silently and Ron nearly fell over at the sight of the man standing in the doorway.

 

‘Y’know, I figured it was you.  Why didn’t you just open the door?’

 

‘It was locked!’

 

‘Oh.  Odd, that.  It was open for me when I came.  Oh, well, come on in.  I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.  Actually, I’m sure that’s why you couldn’t open the door.’

 

Ron didn’t move.  He stared instead.  Everything about the man was familiar – the hair, the eyes, the nose, the voice, the shockingly magenta robes.

 

‘Fred?’ gasped Ron.

 

Fred Weasley snorted and rolled his eyes.  ‘I’m certainly not _George_.  I swear you’re as bad as Mum.  Don’t stand there, get in.’

 

Ron walked into the castle.  The entry hall was massive, much larger than Hogwarts had been.  There were two winding staircases that led upstairs to separate corridors.  The floor and staircases were made of the same white marble as the outside of the castle.  When Ron looked up, the ceiling was several stories high and arched like a cathedral.  Suits of armour lined one wall and portraits lined the opposite one.  Ron glanced at the first picture; it was of a small girl with brown plaits.  She was smiling and then her picture turned black, flickered, and was replaced by an old man with a long grey beard that disappeared beneath the frame.

 

Behind him, the doors to the castle opened and Ron had to do a double-take – the girl from the portrait was walking into the entryway.

 

‘But she was just—’

 

‘Go up the stairs,’ Fred told the girl who had paused, looking at the both of them.  ‘You’ll know where to go.’  To Ron, he said, ‘Yeah, that’s the queue to come here.’

 

‘How come she didn’t have to knock?’ asked Ron.

 

‘Because she’s supposed to be here.  You’re not.  Come on, we’re all upstairs.’

 

‘We who?’ asked Ron, having to run to meet up with Fred who had taken off towards the staircase on the right.  ‘Fred, where am I?  Merlin, my head hurts—’

 

‘He’s here, too.’

 

‘Who?’

 

‘Merlin,’ answered Fred.  ‘Though we don’t really see much of him.  He flitters around like a madman, though I suspect he might’ve been.  We all have our own rooms, but we’re free to enter anyone else’s who invites us.  Sirius, James, and Lily never leave Lily’s room.  The rooms are infinite, though they’d have to be, wouldn’t they?  George’s going to _love_ this place when he comes.’

 

‘ _What_?  Oh, fuck, I’m dead, aren’t I?  Is this, er, Limbo?’

 

‘What’re you talking about?’ asked Fred.  ‘Limbo?  No.  This is – oh, how to explain it?  This is, you know, “beyond the veil” and so forth.’

 

‘Oh my God.’

 

‘But you really shouldn’t be here, so I don’t know ...’

 

At the top of the stairs, Fred went through an archway into the corridor.  This, too, had one wall lined with armour and the other with portraits.  Every few seconds, they would go black, flicker, and a new portrait would appear.  Ron watched one old woman move through six portraits before Fred cleared his throat.

 

Ron looked up.  Fred was several metres down the hall.  Ron jumped out of the way as a teenage boy pushed past him and went down the hall and through a door near Fred.

 

‘... how do they know where to go?’

 

‘You just know.  Would you hurry up?  I have things I need to do.’

 

Ron almost questioned him, but decided against it and followed Fred.  They went up two more winding staircases and halfway down another corridor before Fred stopped.  He hesitated and turned his head towards Ron.

 

‘What you have to understand ...’

 

‘What?’ prompted Ron.

 

‘You have to understand that this place ... it is what we make it.  We’re in this door.  It’s, like, _ours_ and everyone we know comes and goes through this room.  All our individual rooms are off this one.  We see everyone when we want to see them.  You’re not supposed to be here—’

 

‘You keep saying that!’

 

‘There’s no anger here so you gotta be careful ...  You wouldn’t understand.  Anyway, come on.  Dad’s going to want to see you.’

 

‘Dad’s here?’

 

Fred rolled his eyes.  ‘Thank God you’re with Hermione.  I don’t know how you’d survive on your own.’

 

‘Hey!  That’s not fair!’

 

Fred’s hand reached out and turned the knob to the door.  He pushed it open and walked through.  Ron swallowed and followed his older brother again.  He stumbled as his foot stepped down onto the floor.  Only, it wasn’t a floor; it was a large courtyard, covered in grass with beds of flowers of every colour to his right and stone benches in front of him.  Behind the benches was a large fountain spurting flower petals into the air, showering the grass with them.  Trees were in rows on either side of the courtyard, running as far as Ron could see.  It seemed really quiet; there weren’t even the sounds of birds or insects, only of the fountain.  

 

Ron noticed Fred was almost out of eyeshot; he jogged towards his brother.  They kept going past trees and more flowers until the courtyard ended at a balcony.  Fred placed his hands on the railing and looked down.  Ron joined him, looking where Fred looked.

 

‘You can see everyone,’ said Fred.  ‘That’s how I knew you were coming.  I didn’t think you would – you weren’t in the line of portraits, which is how we know you’re not supposed to be here.’

 

‘Oh.’

 

‘Dad was watching you when it happened – all the green smoke and choking.’

 

‘Does Dad watch us a lot?’

 

‘All the time.  He usually watches Mum, but Mum’s been taking care of George loads lately.  When she sleeps he watches you and Gin and Bill, but not Bill as much because Bill has Fleur and is doing good.  But you and Gin are still finding your feet and so forth, or so Dad says.’

 

‘Yeah ...  Who d’you watch?’

 

‘Angelina.’

 

‘But you broke up after you left Hogwarts—’

 

‘I know.  I watch George sometimes.  There’s a stack of parchment in my desk at the flat above the shop where I brainstormed new products.  I keep waiting for George to go back to the flat and find it.’

 

‘He’ll go back when he’s better.  He’s still sick.’

 

‘He’s not that sick,’ said Fred.  ‘He doesn’t really want to go back.  He needs someone to push him to do it.  We’re twins, I know that’s what he needs.  There’s a really, really good one in there that I don’t think even McGonagall would see coming.  Everyone watches someone different.  Lily and James only watch Harry, as you can prob’ly imagine.’

 

Ron nodded.  ‘Yeah.’

 

‘Sirius watches him, too, and sometimes Dad does, though it’s easy for him to watch Harry ‘cause he’s either with you or Gin.  Sirius watches Remus a lot – or Remus and Tonks, rather, seeing as how the two of them are always together.  Luna keeps an eye on her dad, says he’s rather lonely now that he doesn’t have any family left.  I’ve never seen who Hagrid watches—’

 

‘Hagrid’s here?’ cried Ron, thoroughly surprised.

 

‘Of course.  Where’d you think he was?’

 

Ron shook his head.  ‘I dunno ...’

 

‘D’you wanna see Hermione?’ asked Fred.

 

Ron nodded.  ‘Yeah.’

 

‘Just think about her and look down.  You’ll see her.  It’s kinda like those Muggle films.’

 

Ron pictured Hermione in his head and looked down.  Below the balcony was what looked like a pool of water.  As he thought of her, the waters pushed together and rose up, forming the shape of Hermione, just as he remembered her in his head.  After a moment, the shape began to move and a scene broke out, of Hermione and Harry sitting on the floor in what would be the living room, but was still without furniture.  Fred was right; it looked just like a Muggle movie.  

 

_‘Thanks for getting lunch,’ said Harry.  ‘I’ve been rather bored.’_

_‘Oh, Harry, I love spending time with you.  I don’t want you to think that just because Ron and I are together that_ we _’re no longer friends.  You were the first best friend I had.  It’s rather pathetic that it took you being dead for us to finally get some time together on our own.  You can finally tell me about how things are with Ginny!  I know Ron doesn’t like hearing them because she’s his sister, but I don’t mind.’_

_Harry let out a breath.  ‘Good, because things were a bit rocky the week before I moved out, but they were getting better.  Though, we talked about that already, y’know – was that someone at the door?’_

_Hermione stood up.  ‘Grab your cloak.’  She went to the door as the knocking persisted.  Once Harry was under the Invisibility Cloak, Hermione opened the door to the flat, her wand clutched in one hand.  ‘Tonks!’_

_Powder-blue-haired Tonks entered the flat, seemingly out of breath.  ‘You have to ... come to ... St Mungo’s,’ she gasped, trying to breathe normally._

_‘Did you run here?  What’s going—?’_

_‘Aurors called in ... accident.’  Tonks took in a very deep breath.  ‘Ron.’_

_Hermione’s eyes widened and she gasped, her knees buckled and she swayed a bit.  Harry threw off his cloak and rushed to her side, taking hold of her upper arms and supporting her._

_‘Is he ... okay?’ asked Harry._

_Tonks didn’t reply.  ‘I’m not a medi-witch or a Healer,’ she said after a prolonged pause._

_‘But he’s not dead, right?’_

_Hermione whimpered as the word ‘dead’ left Harry’s mouth._

_This time, Tonks didn’t reply at all._

_‘This is bollocks,’ snapped Harry.  ‘He didn’t fight through the fucking final battle against Voldemort to just_ die _a month later in an_ accident _.  No.  Come on, Hermione, you can Side-Along with me to the alley near St Mungo’s and we’ll go in together.’_

_‘You can’t—’ said Hermione, finally finding her voice._

_‘Well, there’s no time like right now to be resurrected.  Tonks, are you ...?’_

_‘I’m coming, yeah.  Well, I have to go to The Burrow first.’_

 

Ron looked away and turned his back to the water.  ‘I can’t watch any more,’ he mumbled.

 

‘It’s not always pleasant to watch.’

 

‘But you said there’s no anger here—’

 

‘There’s not.’

 

‘Angelina’s dating some other bloke, isn’t she?’

 

‘Armand Diaz,’ answered Fred.

 

‘You’re not angry?  Or jealous?’

 

Fred shook his head.  ‘She seems happy.’

 

‘But—’

 

‘You don’t feel the same as we do because you’re not—’

 

‘—supposed to be here,’ finished Ron.  ‘Yeah, you’ve _told me_ already.  But does everyone have to be in those portraits?  What about accidents?  Surely things aren’t ... destined?’

 

‘Ah, Mr Weasley, you have a good point,’ a familiar voice said.

 

Ron whirled around and gasped.  Standing in front of him was none other than Albus Dumbledore.  He wore robes of dark blue that sparkled like the stars in the night sky.  His beard was long and white and hung down around his belly.  Upon his head he wore a white wizard’s cap with blue sparkles, the mirror image of the fabric of his robes.  The corners of his eyes were creased as though his eyes were smiling with that age-old twinkle in them.

 

‘Shit,’ he muttered, in shock to see his old Headmaster.  ‘I mean—’

 

Dumbledore held up his hand.  ‘It’s all right.  May I help clarify a few things for you, Mr Weasley?  Your brother may not be the best at describing what goes on here.’

 

‘Yes, please, sir.  I want to understand.  What the bloody hell is happening to me?’

 

Dumbledore smiled kindly.  ‘This is, as you may have guessed, the afterlife.’

 

‘Heaven?’

 

‘If that is what you wish to call it.’

 

‘So ... it’s not Heaven?’

 

‘Heaven is perceived.  This is what happens when our mortal life is complete.’

 

‘Oh.’  Ron did not understand.  He wished Hermione was here to explain it to him; she always understood everything.

 

‘I believe you were discussing why Fred can see Angelina and not feel anger or jealousy?  Am I correct?’

 

Ron nodded.

 

‘Those are mortal emotions.  Here, we live as the Ideal person.  Fred is happy for Angelina because she is happy.  When she is sad, he will wish nothing for her but more happiness.  Do you understand?’

 

‘I suppose.  How come we’re here?  Why aren’t we ghosts?’

 

‘There’s a complex answer for a simple question.  During life some fear death more than others.  Those who fear it most or strive for some semblance of immortality refuse to enter the door and turn their backs on it.  Or there are those who are simply too stubborn to leave those they love behind.  Once you walk away from the door, you can never find it again.’

 

‘No wonder Nearly Headless Nick is always so bloody miserable.’

 

‘Yes, it would seem he is not the most accepting of his lot in life – or in death, I should say.’  Dumbledore smiled kindly.  ‘Now, I suppose you would like to know how you got here?’

 

Ron nodded.  ‘Please.  Fred said I wasn’t in line?’

 

‘No, I’m afraid you weren’t.  Some things are predestined.  Your accident went against Fate.  No, I believe that curse that was lying underneath the Yaxley house was not meant to be triggered today.  You went a different direction than Fate intended, but that is not entirely unheard of.  People come here before their portraits were painted; those are mostly small children, however, who met their deaths far before they should have.’

 

‘Oh.  And they stay?’

 

‘Some do.  Many don’t.’

 

‘Oh.  And everyone whose portraits are up here will die?’

 

‘Everyone dies, Mr Weasley.’

 

Ron grunted in annoyance.  ‘I know that, but I mean – if your portrait is right next to the door, then you’re definitely going to die?  You can’t, I don’t know, stop Fate?’

 

‘Oh, precisely.  You can, Mr Weasley, you can.  For instance, I watched Harry’s portrait throughout your last year at Hogwarts.  Several times he was right next to the door, only to vanish and reappear further down in the queue.  During that last great battle, everyone who fought was near the door because at that moment, anyone could have died.  You, Mr Weasley, were next to the door several times, as was Miss Granger.  Those who are still alive have portraits elsewhere in the queue.  Harry’s is so far away I haven’t been able to find it yet.  I believe he has a lot more life yet to live.’

 

‘That’s good,’ said Ron.

 

‘Fate doesn’t set all the rules.  I suppose you could say that it was Fate who brought everyone together to face Voldemort.  Yet, Fate didn’t decide exactly who would live and who would die.  Do you understand?’

 

‘Dunno,’ Ron answered honestly.

 

‘When it’s your time to come back, you will.  It’ll become clear.  Is there anything else I can attempt to explain to you?’

 

Ron glanced at Fred, who was watching Angelina as she read a book on her sofa.  

 

‘Is looking all we can do?  We can’t talk to them or anything?’

 

‘Sometimes,’ said Dumbledore, ‘when there is particular sadness or trouble, we can extend a hand through the water.  There are claims of being able to _feel_ the departed around you.  On very rare occasions, touching the water allows you to slip into the mortal world, but for only a minute or so before you’re pulled back here.  The breach into the mortal world lasts longer if there is a lost soul.’

 

‘What’s that?’

 

‘During exceptionally sudden or violent deaths there can be mass confusion and one might not find the door.  Those times, that person will wander around, not understanding they’re dead and not being able to find their way here.  We can see them and help show them their way, but for someone still living to see them is highly unlikely.  Those are the times in which a portrait hovers over the doorway, waiting for that person to come home.’

 

_Home_ ,thought Ron.  He paused, thinking about what that meant.  ‘Er, who paints the portraits?’

 

Dumbledore smiled again.  ‘That is quite a question, Mr Weasley.  A divine artist, you could say.’

 

‘What’s in that tall tower?  The one that’s higher than the rest?’

 

‘I have yet to see it.  Not everyone gets called to go to there, but that’s where all the portraits are painted.’

 

‘Why d’you get called there?’ asked Ron, still itching from curiosity.

 

‘A very interesting question, but one I cannot answer.  Ah, Mr Weasley, behind you, you have visitors.’

 

Ron turned around.  ‘Dad!  Charlie!’

 

Arthur Weasley threw his arms around his youngest son.  He was still bald, still grey, but had a completely different look about him.  The worry lines about his eyes had vanished and his skin glowed with something Ron was completely unfamiliar with.  Ron thought it might be perfect contentment, but whatever it was made his father look years younger.

 

Charlie also had the same glow to his skin.  His body was still covered in scars from trying to tame dragons for so many years.  The golden tones to his ginger hair stood out and he smiled broadly at Ron.  The twins had been Ginny’s favourite brothers, but Charlie had been Ron’s.  Once Charlie left Hogwarts, he always sent detailed letters to Ron several times a year, giving him play-by-play descriptions of his adventures with the dragons.  They understood one another.  Ron could ask Charlie anything.  Bill and Percy had both been Head Boys and didn’t understand having to practise to perfect Charms or Transfiguration.  Charlie had lived in Bill’s shadow and sure, he was Quidditch Captain, but unbeknownst to most people, Charlie’s first year on the Gryffindor team hadn’t been pretty.  It had taken three brilliant Chasers to help their house win the cup, for Charlie hadn’t caught the Snitch once.  By his seventh year he was a brilliant Seeker, much like Ron’s struggle towards becoming a good Keeper.

 

‘I wish I could say it was good to see you,’ said Mr Weasley.

 

‘What d’you mean?’ asked Ron, feeling even more confused.

 

‘If you’re here, then you’re not _there_.  If you were there then you could try and make ... it’s simply that your mum needn’t be so sad.’

 

‘I don’t know how to make it better,’ said Ron.

 

Arthur shook his head.  ‘I don’t really think there’s anything you can do, son.  Tell her I met a man by the name of Wright!  It was fascinating.’

 

‘Er – who?  Bowman Wright?  The Snitch guy?’

 

Charlie laughed.  ‘No, he means an American by the name of Wright.  Orville.  He told Dad how airplanes fly.’

 

Ron grinned.  ‘Really?’

 

‘ _I_ don’t understand it,’ said Charlie.  ‘I always secretly thought one of us was helping the Muggles do it, but apparently those things really _do_ fly without magic!  Of course, in exchange for the information about the airplanes, Dad got me to tell him about dragons.  He seemed rather fascinated by it all.’

 

‘I bet,’ said Ron, trying to think what it would be like to discover dragons had he not known they ever existed.  He imagined it would be overwhelming.

 

‘How’d you get here?’ asked Charlie.  ‘Dad said there was a curse?’

 

‘Yeah, on the house I was working on.  It’s not much of a job, but—’

 

‘Don’t say that!’ cried Arthur fiercely.  ‘You’re rebuilding the magical world!  You helped stop the war, you have your own flat, and now you have a job!  I’ve never been more proud of you.’

 

Ron wasn’t sure what to say; his tongue felt thick in his mouth.

 

‘And Ginny,’ Ron’s dad continued, ‘I’m very proud of her.  You tell her that her decision regarding her and Harry was the right one and you tell Harry I’m proud of him for honouring it.’

 

‘Er, what’re you talking about?’

 

‘Hermione knows,’ said Charlie.  ‘You can ask her.  And tell Bill to trust Fleur.’

 

‘What?  He doesn’t—?’

 

‘He’s feeling a bit unlike himself,’ answered Arthur.  ‘First the werewolf and all that rot.  You know, he might like to go through some of my old boxes in the shed.  I daresay there’s quite a lot of _fascinating_ things in there!  Might take his mind off things.’

 

‘Right,’ said Ron.  ‘But why doesn’t he trust—’

 

‘He thinks she’s going to find someone younger, less scarred.  You know,’ said Charlie, ‘he might do well talking to Remus.  They sound a lot alike.  I can remember wishing Bill would end up with Tonks, but he only wants Fleur and we want him to make sure he doesn’t lose her.  She makes him happy.’

 

There was that stuff about happiness again.  Ron was only beginning to understand it.  If Charlie, who never liked Fleur, much like Ginny and Mrs Weasley, could want Bill to stay with Fleur for Bill’s happiness – well, that was something.  That was remarkable.  Ron wished he could feel that way towards people.

 

‘Tell George to get his arse inside that flat and to go through my old things,’ said Fred.  ‘Tell him I said he’s a right ol’ git if he doesn’t and that I finally figured out how to rid those purple boils we got whenever we tested out the Demented Danish.’

 

‘The – what?’

 

‘Demented Danish,’ repeated Fred.  ‘New product.  Guaranteed to make anyone a madman for a full thirty minutes.  Eat at your own risk, of course.’

 

‘Fantastic,’ breathed Ron, still in awe of the pranks his brothers could come up with.

 

‘Tell him?’

 

Ron nodded.  ‘Sure ...’

 

‘Tell your mum it’s all right to read my journal.’

 

Ron looked at his dad.  ‘You kept a journal?’

 

‘She found it just the other day,’ said Arthur.  ‘There’s only an entry or two a year.  I began it when she got pregnant with Bill.  I was going to share it with you lot when you came of age, tell you what was going on when your mum was pregnant and the first day you were born, but I never did.  Don’t know why, really.  Thought I would always get the chance to do it, one day.’

 

Ron swallowed hard.

 

‘Ohh, yeah, I almost forgot!’  Arthur clamped a hand down on Ron’s shoulder.  ‘Forgive Hermione.’

 

Ron blinked.  ‘Forgive her?  For what?’

 

‘Sometimes we feel things that are going to happen,’ said Dumbledore, coming up beside Ron.  ‘Things from the future.  We don’t see them, only sense them.  Usually we’re correct.’

 

‘But ... forgive her?  What’s she going to do?’

 

‘You’re going to have a rocky road ahead of you,’ said Arthur, ‘but I’ve never seen two people who balance one another out the way you and Hermione do.’

 

‘You and mum,’ said Charlie.  ‘You two are just like them,’ he added, looking at Ron.

 

‘And we were made for one another,’ said Arthur, smiling.  ‘But, yes, Ron, forgive her.  When the time comes, you’ll know the reason why.  If you don’t forgive her then you won’t have a future together.  It might be hard, but try.  Even if you don’t end up married, you must forgive her to even entertain the thought _of_ being together forever.’

 

‘All right,’ said Ron, his confusion reaching a new height.

 

Then, another familiar voice sounded near Ron.  This one was light and airy and immediately he recognised it.  

 

‘Ronald!’ it said.

 

‘Luna!’  Ron watched the blonde girl run towards him, tomato earrings bouncing furiously around her lobes as she ran.

 

‘It’s amazing to see you!  Why’re you here?  Don’t tell me the Great Fanged Treedogs got you?  My dad was just writing an article about how they’ve been spotted around Hogsmeade.’

 

‘Er ... no.  It was a curse.’

 

‘That’s terrible.  Do you remember Ernie Macmillan?  He’s just over there.  We’ve been discussing the likelihood of Snorkacks leaving Sweden.  He’s inclined to agree that they’ll never be spotted anywhere else but their native—’

 

‘Ernie?  I cannot believe I’m seeing you lot again.’  Ron waved at the Hufflepuff who was standing amongst a few other familiar faces.  ‘Is that—?’

 

‘Sirius, Hagrid and Percy,’ answered Charlie.  ‘Oh, and Gideon and Fabian as well.  You remember them?’

 

‘You never met them,’ Arthur added, ‘but Molly has pictures of them in her album.’

 

‘Oh, yeah,’ said Ron, immediately recognising his mum’s brothers, both of whom died during the first war, before he was born.

 

‘Ron,’ said Dumbledore, refocusing Ron’s attention.  ‘It’s time for you to make a decision.’

 

‘About what?’ asked Ron, looking at his old Professor.

 

‘I take it your head no longer hurts?’

 

Ron’s fingers immediately touched his forehead.  ‘No ... not at all!’

 

‘Just as I feared.  If you stay here for too long you’ll be here permanently.  There’s still time to go back, but you’ll have to choose.’

 

‘I can’t stay here?’

 

‘It’s not your time, but, yes, you can stay.  Is that what you wish?’

 

Ron looked at his family and friends.  He suddenly noticed the sense of peace and calm that had invaded his body.  He’d never felt so serene before, as though nothing bad could happen, as though everything was perfect.

 

_But it’s not perfect.  Hermione isn’t here_.

 

‘Those feelings will pass,’ said Dumbledore, as though reading Ron’s mind.  ‘It will be perfect here when it’s your time to stay.  You will not long for anything.’

 

Ron nodded, trying desperately to understand.  He was torn.  He was beginning to feel that this was perfection here, in the white castle.  _Hermione_ , he thought, and that perfect feeling ebbed away.

 

‘I need to go back,’ said Ron.  ‘I need to – I still need her.’

 

Dumbledore nodded.

 

‘Thank Merlin!’ cried Arthur, hugging his son again.  ‘I want you to go back.  I want you to live.  If you stayed you won’t feel any regret, but you need to live more of your life.  You need to be with your family and Hermione.’

 

‘Don’t forget to give everyone our messages, all right?’

 

Ron nodded.  ‘Yes, I won’t forget.  How do I get back?’

 

‘Go back the way you came,’ said Dumbledore.  ‘Once you get to the front doors, simply open one and walk through it.  We cannot come with you.  We can’t pass through the doors, only stay in the entryway.’

 

‘I can go by myself,’ said Ron.  

 

‘Good boy,’ Arthur said, a proud expression on his face.  ‘We’ll see you again, son, don’t forget that.’

 

‘I – I love you.’

 

Arthur beamed.  ‘I love you, too.’

 

‘Aw,’ said Charlie, pulling Ron in for a hug.  ‘I love you, brother.  Before I died, you were always my favourite.  You better hurry up!’

 

Ron nodded.  ‘Right.  Bye, Charlie.  Bye, Dad.  Fred, Professor.  Bye, Luna.’  Ron waved to the others – Sirius and Hagrid and the rest – and ran through the courtyard and past the fountain.  He opened up the first door and ran through the corridor and down the flights of stairs.  He passed by all the armour and the flickering portraits, the continually moving queue.  Pausing in the entryway, Ron gathered up his courage and flung the front door open and ran through them to the other side.

 

‘ _Oof_ ,’ grunted Ron as he ran headfirst into a black wall.  Everything was black.  He turned around, but the castle was gone.  Somehow he’d got stuck in a black mass.  He couldn’t move, he was encased in the darkness.  His fists clenched as he tried to push against the wall in front of him.  He pushed harder and harder.  

 

Then, he stopped.

 

Were those voices he was hearing?  There was muttering in the distance, too far away to make out the words, but it was definitely someone talking.  Ron began to push harder.  He felt the wall give a little and he had to stop to catch his breath.  His fist unclenched against his will.  His hand felt full; his fingers were pushed together, as though being squeezed by something.

 

That was _definitely_ Hermione’s voice.  Ron began to push harder and harder and _harder_ until – _pop!_ – the wall completely gave way and he was thrown into another abyss, much like the first.  This time when he landed, his eyes opened and the white he saw was a hospital room and not a castle, and the first person there wasn’t Fred, but Hermione, holding his hand.

 

‘Nuuuhh,’ Ron moaned, the thousand knives in his head coming back.  His whole body was in pain, but nothing like his head.

 

‘Here, here, drink this.’

 

Ron opened his mouth and allowed Hermione to lift a potion bottle to his lips.  He swallowed and the pain in his body began to disappear.  Looking at Hermione, Ron noticed her nose and eyes were red, her hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail, bits of frizz escaping the ribbon.  She looked tired, but beautiful; it was no wonder Ron loved her so.  He remembered he’d forgotten to tell her before he was cursed.

 

‘I love you,’ he whispered, his throat hurting as he said the words.

 

Hermione smiled and leaned down to kiss his mouth softly.  ‘I’m glad you’re awake.  The Healers said if you woke up you’d be out of danger.’

 

Ron nodded.  ‘Yeah.  Going to live.’  He coughed.  ‘Going to sleep ...’

 

Hermione’s smile broadened.  ‘Go to sleep.  I’m going to find a Healer, tell them you woke up, all right?  I’ll just be a moment, though.  I’m not going to leave until you’re fully back.’

 

Ron nodded again and wanted to respond, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open and his mouth didn’t work.  He promptly fell asleep.

 

XXXXXXX

 

**To Be Continued ...**

 

XXXXXXX 

 

A/N: The eleven faces from the chapter title are: Fred, Arthur, Dumbledore, Charlie, Percy, Sirius, Hagrid, Luna, Gideon, Fabian, and Ernie ... just in case anyone wasn’t sure.


	9. Thirty Questions

XXXXXXX

XXXXXXX

 

**Chapter Nine:  Thirty Questions**

 

XXXXXXX

 

The soup in front of him was green and lumpy.  He had no intention of eating anything that looked as though it had been thrown up once already.  He played with it, scooping up blobs of the green goo on his spoon and then turning the spoon over, letting the globs fall back into the bowl.  

 

The hospital room was very clean and very quiet.  He was in a room by himself.  His mother had come to visit, along with Ginny and George.  Mrs Weasley fussed over him and George told him he was a git for letting himself get blown away by a curse, but there was a light, teasing tone to his voice which Ron was grateful for; it let him know that the old George was still in there somewhere.  

 

‘You should eat that.  It’ll make you feel better.’

 

‘I doubt that,’ grumbled Ron, glancing at the doorway to his room and smiling as Hermione leaned against the doorframe.  She wore dark blue wizard robes.  They looked very professional on her, especially with her hair pulled back away from her face.  She definitely looked like a professor and Ron suddenly had rather naughty thoughts about detention and having to be punished for saying dirty things in her class.

 

‘I brought you some chocolate frogs – but don’t tell.’

 

‘Breaking the rules?’

 

Hermione shook her head and walked into the room.  She sat down on the end of Ron’s bed, by his feet.  ‘No,’ she said, ‘there aren’t any rules that say I can’t bring you chocolate.  I hope it’ll make you feel a bit better.’

 

‘I want to go home.  That’ll make me feel loads better.’

 

‘You’ve only been awake for two days!  You were in the hospital wing for a week when you were poisoned in sixth year; this is much worse.’

 

‘Yeah, but you said I was asleep for two!  So I’ve been here for ages already.’  

 

‘Yes, that’s true.  Here, I also brought you a copy of _The_ _Quibbler_.’  Hermione handed Ron a rolled-up copy of the magazine.  He narrowed his eyes.

 

‘Why?’

 

‘Mr Lovegood wrote an article about Harry in it.  Did you see the _Prophet_ ’s special edition paper?  They wrote all about how Harry isn’t really dead, but yesterday evening, he left after you fell asleep, telling me how he had to get to Ottery St Catchpole ... to some _pub_ ... to meet Luna’s father.’

 

Ron pushed the bowl of soup away.  Hermione sighed and flicked her wand, levitating it to Ron’s bedside table.

 

‘Then,’ continued Hermione, ‘he said that _you_ told him to give the interview to Mr Lovegood.’

 

‘Oh.  Yeah.’

 

‘Why would you say that?’

 

‘Er, well, his wife died, yeah?  And Luna died ... so it seemed – well, it rather seemed that, y’know, perhaps he was ... lonely.’

 

‘Of course he’s lonely!’ cried Hermione.  

 

‘Why’re you yelling at me?’

 

‘ _Because_!’  Hermione threw her hands up in exasperation.

 

‘What the bloody hell, Hermione?’

 

‘You were cursed and suddenly you’re awake and _sensitive_?’

 

‘I don’t think – wait.  What?’

 

Hermione placed her hand on Ron’s shin, over the blankets.  ‘It’s simply that you never were particularly apt at identifying other people’s feelings.  At school you could be incredibly _in_ sensitive – and don’t _give_ me that _look_ , you know it’s true – and now you’re very sensitive to the needs of Luna’s father?’

 

Ron swallowed.  ‘Harry already said that he would probably go to Luna’s dad anyway.  I just gave him the extra ... push.’

 

‘Push,’ repeated Hermione.

 

‘If I tell you a secret ... you can’t tell anyone.’

 

‘All right,’ said Hermione.

 

‘This is very serious.’

 

Hermione nodded.  ‘Ron, if you tell me it’s a secret, then it’s a secret.  I won’t tell anyone.’

 

‘Not even Harry.’

 

‘Not even Harry,’ Hermione agreed.

 

‘I had a dream.  I was sorta dead.  But not really.  I mean, I think I was dying—’

 

‘The Healers thought you were lost,’ confirmed Hermione.  ‘There was barely a pulse, barely – they thought you were going to die.’

 

‘Don’t look like that,’ said Ron, horrified at how upset Hermione suddenly looked.  ‘I didn’t die.  I’m here.’

 

Hermione nodded.  ‘I know you are.  Tell me about your dream.’

 

‘I dreamt of Dumbledore and my dad.  Charlie, Fred – everyone was there.  Hagrid.  They told me how it wasn’t my time to die, but I could choose to die if I wanted to.  It was weird, like I wanted to stay because everything was peaceful and the longer I was there the more _perfect_ it seemed.  And I thought I was going to decide to stay, I really did for a moment, but then I thought of you and how we needed each other and so I came back.’

 

‘You came back from the dead for me?’

 

Ron shrugged.

 

‘That’s ... interesting.’  Hermione slid off the bed and began to pace next to Ron’s bed.  ‘Hmmm.’

 

‘What?’

 

‘You went to Heaven?’

 

‘No.  I went to someplace, though.’

 

‘Someplace.  Interesting.’

 

‘You don’t believe me, do you?’

 

‘I’m simply thinking, is all.  Heaven is something that Muggles share with wizards, did you know that?  There are religious wizards just as there are religious Muggles.  We celebrate Christmas and Easter.  There’s an official wizard church in London, though mostly witches and wizards go to church in their neighbourhoods.’

 

‘How d’ you always know everything?’ asked Ron.

 

Hermione smiled.  ‘I don’t.’  She stopped pacing and looked at him.  ‘My mum goes to church every Sunday.  It’s really a testament of what a brilliant Christian she is that she can accept that I’m a witch and can do magic without thinking that I’ll never go to Heaven because of it.’

 

‘Hermione?’

 

‘Yes?’

 

‘They told me something when I was there that I think I should tell—’

 

‘G’day, g’day!’ a busy Healer scurried into the room, her wand pointed out in front of her.  ‘Oh, tsk, tsk, this arm is not as far along as I’d hoped.  We’ll have to splint it, yes, yes.’

 

‘Why can’t you just heal it?’

 

The Healer shook her head.  She was old, with white hair pulled back in a messy bun on the top of her head.  Her eyes were grey and her skin wrinkled.

 

‘We don’ know what kinda curse it was that blew up in yer face, m’dear.  But you can heal the ol’ Muggle way.  Not a problem.’

 

‘The _Muggle_ way?’ said Ron, horrified.  ‘But – how long will that take?’

 

‘We estimate it at three weeks.  Don’ worry.  Yer arm’ll be a’right in the end.’

 

Ron looked at Hermione for reassurance or help.  Before she could say anything, Mr. Dubois knocked on the door and entered.  He waited while the Healer finished up and declared Ron in very good health.

 

‘’Ow is ze patient?’ he inquired.  He wore a blue striped Muggle suit and bright blue trainers.  He had a dark green top hat on his head.

 

‘I’m fine,’ mumbled Ron.  ‘Ready to get out of here.’

 

‘The Healer said his arm would take up to three weeks to heal fully,’ offered Hermione, ‘but he’s strong-willed.  He’ll pull through.’  She smiled at Ron and he couldn’t help but smile back.

 

‘Three weeks?  _Trois_?  _Mon Dieu_.  Zis is most ... unpleasant.’

 

‘Why?’ asked Ron, alarmed.  ‘What’s wrong?’

 

‘You cannot work with your arm broken, no?’

 

Ron shook his head.  ‘No.  They told me I couldn’t ...  Just now – that’s what the Healer said.’

 

‘Zis will put us be’ind een our work.  Eet is most unfortunate.  We will pay your ‘ospital beels, yes, but we will ‘ave to find a replacement for you.  Eef after you are ‘ealed we ‘ave not found anyone, you can ‘ave your job back.  ‘Ow does zat sound?’

 

‘Like a load of rubbish.’

 

‘Ron!’ Hermione cried.

 

‘Eet is business, _non_?  Do you remember what ‘appened before ze curse hit you?’

 

‘No.’

 

‘Nuzzing at all?’

 

‘No.’

 

‘ _Rien_?  Zat is a shame.  We at the Marcus and Dubois Company ‘ope you make a fast recovery and ‘ope that your job is steel available after your convalescence.’  Mr Dubois tipped his hat at Hermione and left.

 

‘The _nerve_ of him!’ shouted Hermione.  ‘It’s there fault you’re in here in the first place!’

 

‘They did warn me there could be curses and things.’

 

‘The way he talked – you would have thought he _wanted_ you to get cursed!’

 

‘I think that’s a bit harsh, Hermione,’ sighed Ron.  ‘What am I going to do without a job?  I can’t afford to live in the flat.  We just moved in!’

 

‘Harry will cover you, Ron, until you find other employment.  It’s not your fault.  Perhaps there’s something at Hogwarts?  They need a new grounds keeper ...’

 

Ron shook his head.  ‘No.  I’m not really a good choice, y’know.  I’d take house points and ... just, no.  Maybe as a last resort.’

 

Hermione walked over to Ron’s hospital bed and kissed him chastely on the mouth.  ‘I need to get back to Hogwarts, you were cursed before I got to have dinner with Flitwick to discuss being a professor.  That’s where I’m going now, but I’ll come visit you tomorrow, if you’d like.’

 

Ron nodded.  ‘Thanks.’

 

‘I’m glad you didn’t stay in Heaven.  I’m glad you’re here.’

 

‘Me too.’

 

‘I love you.’

 

Ron smiled and nodded again.  ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘me too.’

 

XXXXXXX

 

**HARRY POTTER: THE BOY WHO LIVED AND DIED, LIVES AGAIN**

**Written By,**

**Laurence Lovegood**

**STAFF WRITER**

To quote a brief history of Harry Potter, his past eighteen years have not been pleasant ones.  His parents died only a few months after his first birthday.  He was then sent to live with his Muggle relatives who did not love him.  For ten years he lived there, sleeping inside a cupboard under the stairs.  When he was eleven he received his Hogwarts letter, but things did not change for the better.  He met his two best friends, Ronald Bilius Weasley and Hermione Jane Granger.  In second year, the Chamber of Secrets was reopened.  In his third year, an escaped convict from Azkaban was after him.  In his fourth year, he was entered against his will into the Tri-Wizard Tournament and witnessed the death of his fellow student and friend while fighting He Who Must Not Be Named.  In his fifth year, he fought in a battle against Death Eaters and You Know Who once again.  There, he witnessed the death of the same convict who had been after him only two years before.  In his sixth year, he witnessed the death of his friend, professor, and mentor, Albus Dumbledore.  In his seventh year, he fought against You Know Who to the death and came out victorious, but little did the people of Britain know that Harry Potter had actually survived.  His history might be tragic, but his life has been heroic.  As interviewed by this reporter and editor of _The Quibbler_ , an exclusive interview with Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is as follows.  

 

**LAURENCE LOVEGOOD** :  You lay low for a quite a while and you let everyone think you were dead.  Why did you do this?  Thoughts?  Feelings?  Opinions?

 

**HARRY POTTER** : It was a matter of privacy.  I didn’t want to be followed by reporters and I didn’t want my friends to get followed when they were with me, either.  In fact, my two best mates were mobbed in Diagon Alley a week or so ago when they were there.  I really just want to be left alone.  I’m famous, but I shouldn’t be.  I did what anyone in my shoes would’ve done.

 

**LL** :  I don’t know if that’s true, I don’t know if that’s true at all.  You don’t think many would’ve run away in fear?

 

**HP** :  Perhaps, but I’m glad I’m famous for helping end a war.  There’s worse things to be famous for.

 

**LL** :  Oh, indeed!  Why, Babel Dungarious is famous for his many articles against the existence of _Blibbering_ _Humdinger_ s and then he was killed by one just four days after his last article about them!  Rather ironic, if you ask me.  But back to you, Harry. What made you come out of hiding?

 

**HP** :  My best mate was in hospital.  I had to see him, but I knew once I showed my face everyone would know I wasn’t really dead.  [ _here_ _, Harry sighs_ ]  I figured it was best to have a formal interview and get it over with.  He’s all right, by the way, my mate.

 

**LL** :  This interviewer, being me, Laurence Lovegood, appreciates being chosen.  Would you mind terribly about answering some questions about the final battle and the end of the war?

 

**HP** :  Now is as good a time as any.

 

**LL** :  First question.  Can you tell me how it felt right before you went to fight?

 

**HP** :  Oh.  [ _here_ _he pauses for quite some time, running his hand over his chin in thought_ ]  I would be lying to say I wasn’t scared.  I was scared, but I wanted to get everything over with.  I didn’t want to wait any longer.  There were loads of us, all of us either part of the Defence Association that I started at Hogwarts when I was fifteen or we were part of the Order of the Phoenix.  I think the papers have already written about the Order?

  
**LL** :  Yes, you don’t have to worry about explaining it.

 

**HP** :  Good.  Okay.  Where was I?  [ _here_ _he pauses again_ ]  Right, so there were a lot of us and we knew what we had to do.  We had to fight our way through Death Eaters to get to Voldemort.  Everyone was protecting me because I was the only one who could kill him.

 

**LL** :  You alone?  All by yourself?

 

**HP** :  Yes.  There was a prophecy that said only I could kill him.  

 

**LL** :  Fascinating, truly fascinating.  What happened while you were fighting He Who Must Not Be Named?

 

**HP** :  It’s hard to remember, really.  There were a lot of curses and hexes thrown.  He wanted to hurt me before he killed me.  There were plenty of opportunities in the past where he could have simply just killed me, but he never wanted to.  He wanted to duel me.  Outside the room where he and I were fighting, he’d told his Death Eaters to capture my closest friends.  I think he wanted me to watch them die.  Like I said, he wasn’t content just killing me.  He wanted to hurt me any way he could.

 

**LL** :  Did he capture any of them?

 

**HP** :  [ _Harry shakes his head_ ]  No, he didn’t.

 

**LL** :  That’s a relief.  How did you end up killing him?

 

**HP** :  The Killing Curse.

 

**LL** :  It was that simple?

 

**HP** :  Yes.  I got his wand away from him.  Then, I did it.

 

**LL** :  Did You Know Who have any last words?

 

**HP** :  He didn’t beg for mercy or apologise, if that’s what you mean.  He laughed and said that I could kill this body, but he’d come back – he’d always come back.  I told him that I had – I don’t know if this is safe to say ... [ _Harry takes in a deep breath and rubs his eyes_ ]  It’s probably better for everyone to know the truth, right?  Every time someone is killed, a part of their soul rips.  You can take that rip and tear your soul in two and hide the second piece in an object.

 

**LL** :  My magazine wrote an article about them several years ago, but the Ministry dismissed it.  Acted as though they’d never heard of such things!  It sounds like very Dark magic.

 

**HP** :  It is and it’s very, very real.  Most people who actually _do_ don’t want to admit it.  It’s vile and disgusting and when you part with your soul, you become less human.  Which is why Voldemort didn’t look like a person and acted evil.  Only he placed his soul in seven pieces, so before I went to kill him, I had to destroy each piece of his soul first to ensure he’d never come back to life again.

 

**LL** :  So you’re saying that You Know Who wanted to be immortal?

 

**HP** :  Basically.

 

**LL** :  Were you able to get all the pieces of his soul and destroy them?  What is this magic called again?  Can you refresh my memory?

 

**HP** :  Splitting your soul, all that, is called a Horcrux.  And yeah, they’re destroyed.  Voldemort is going to stay dead this time.

 

**LL** :  That is such a relief.  We need the Ministry to focus on other pressing matters.  Infiltration of strategically place toe fungus in the public toilets around wizarding England, for one.  Everyone underestimates the lasting damage of toe fungus.  Did you tell You Know Who you had destroyed all his Horcruxes?

 

**HP** :  Yeah.  I told him.  He was bloody enraged, but that’s about the time I turned the Killing Curse on him.  

 

**LL** :  This might be a difficult question, but are you glad he’s dead?

 

**HP** :  I suppose I shouldn’t be – I mean, I killed a man, but yes.  I’m very glad.  I can live a normal life and no one has to live in fear any longer.  I know my friends are safe and I can get on with a normal relationship with my girlfriend.

 

**LL** :  Romance blossoms for the young Mr Potter, then?

 

**HP** :  Yes, but I don’t really want to talk about her.  She doesn’t need any more attention on her than necessary.

 

**LL** :  Young love is to be treasured!  When you were in the room with You Know Who, what happened when you were able to finally kill him?

 

**HP** :  Well, there was a rush of energy that exploded from him and he basically keeled over and died.  It wasn’t anything overly dramatic.  I remember a lot of green light and a lot of silence.  Then my friends and one of my old professors from school came in and we made a pact not to tell anyone I was still alive so I could get some things straightened out.

 

**LL** :  What did you need to do?

 

**HP** :  Nothing in particular.  You have to understand that after my parents died I went to go live with my aunt and uncle who are the worst sort of Muggles.  They’re not very nice people so I was rather miserable at their house.  When I was eleven I found out I was a wizard and before my first year was over, Voldemort was already after me to kill me again.  I’ve had to fight almost every year after that.  I’ve never been free from him.  I’ve never had time to be happy before and I wanted that chance.  I thought I could do that if I could be left alone.

 

**LL** :  Are you happy now that you’ve come out of hiding?

 

**HP** :  I don’t fancy the people who will line up at my door to talk to me, but I’ve moved recently and no one knows where my new residence is so hopefully I’ll be left alone.  I was fairly happy when no one knew where I was.  [ _here_ _, Harry sighs again_ ] I didn’t have to worry about talking about this sort of thing again, but all this needs to be said and I only plan on saying it once.

 

**LL** :  If You Know Who was still alive, what would you say to him right now?

 

**HP** :  Nothing.  I’d kill him again.  

 

**LL** :  A very straightforward answer!  You don’t hold anything back, do you?  What if you could talk one more time to the people who have died during the war, what would you say to them?

 

**HP** :  That’s a ... [ _here, Harry shifts in his chair_ ] That’s a heavy question.  There’s so many people who died.

 

**LL** :  All right, let’s narrow it down a bit, if that’s fine with you.  What would you say to your parents?

 

**HP** :  I would say that I hope they’re proud of me and I hope they know that they gave me strength when I needed it.  Everyone who knew them said they loved me very much and I had to hold on to that because I didn’t have a real family once they died until I met the Weasleys.  Even then, I didn’t feel a part of their family for a few years.  Once I was fourteen or so they sort-of adopted me, I suppose you could say.  But I knew that when I was a baby my parents loved me and so I had to believe in that.  It helped me through the years.

 

**LL** :  What would you say to Sirius Black?  I heard rumours that he was your godfather.

 

**HP** :  I’d say there wasn’t enough time with him and he would’ve been a brilliant replacement for my father if he hadn’t died.  Oh, and I’d tell him that I’m still trying to get his named officially cleared.  He was never guilty of anything.

 

**LL** :  Yes, I heard it was Stubby Boardman all along!  Is that true?  [ _Harry shakes his head so I continue with other questions_ ] What about Dumbledore?

 

**HP** :  I’m still his man and I always will be.  He was the greatest wizard I’ve ever known.

 

**LL** :  And the Weasleys?  There were several who passed.

 

**HP** :  That’s one of the hardest ones.  I’d tell them that I would have been proud to be a Weasley myself, even though I never can be in name.

 

**LL** :  There’s still Severus Snape, who I heard you never liked while you were a student?

 

**HP** :  Snape and I shared a mutual disgust for one another.  He killed Dumbledore, but it’s not very clear what exactly happened that night.  He said he was on our side and Dumbledore told him – but, in the end he really helped us.  Snape gave us the last Horcrux when he found it.  I wouldn’t apologise for hating him, but I’d thank him, if I had to.

 

**LL** :  Anyone else you have any words for?

 

**HP** :  No.  Anyone who helped us fight, I would say thank you.  Anyone who died I would say that I hope your deaths were avenged.  Oh.  And to Luna, I’d say that her memory still makes us laugh, in a very good way, and we miss her.  We miss her very much.

 

**LL** :  The hour has grown late, but I would like to thank you for sitting with me, and thank you for the kind words about my daughter.

 

**HP** :  What I said was true, so there’s no reason to thank me.  And I’m glad this interview took place, especially since it’ll be the last interview I’ll ever give about the war.  Thank you.

 

XXXXXXX  

 

Another two days in the hospital and Ron was released.  He went straight to his flat and flopped down on his bed, careful to mind the splint around his arm so that it could heal on its own.  The thought of not having a job was thoroughly depressing and Ron wanted to scream.

 

He looked up when he heard a knock on his bedroom door.  ‘Come in.’

 

Harry walked into the room and sat down on top of Ron’s trunk, which was at the end of his bed.  ‘Hey, mate.  You’ve looked better.’

 

‘Thanks.  So’ve you.’

 

Harry smirked and nodded.  ‘Yeah.  I’ve been hiding out.  So many bloody people have been knocking ‘round the door and sending hundreds of owls.’

 

‘How’d they figure out you were here?’

 

‘They haven’t.  They found out this is where _you_ live and they want to know if I’m here, too.  It’ll die down eventually.’

 

‘Yeah, right.  In like another year it’ll die down.  I read your interview.’

 

‘Yeah?  What’d you think?’

 

Honestly, Ron had felt a funny pain in his stomach when he first read it.  The way Harry described what he would say to those who had died and how he thought himself a Weasley was very touching.  They had been brothers for a long time and might even officially become family if he ended up with Ginny permanently.  Deep down, Ron knew that Harry loved his family, but to see it in print was a different matter.

 

‘I think it’s really sweet you think we adopted you.’

 

Harry laughed.  ‘Shut up.  You know it’s true though.’

 

Ron nodded and sat up.  ‘Yeah ... I know.  Listen, I lost my job.’

 

‘I know, Hermione told me.  Dubois is a fucking idiot.’

 

‘Yeah, but I can’t pay for my part of the flat now and—’

 

‘Gringotts still hasn’t got my vault straightened out, so you have plenty of money to pay for the flat.  Ron, you can stay here.  I don’t care if you don’t have any money.  At some point you’ll get a job and you’ll pay then.  Don’t worry about it.  And it’s not charity, before you open your stupid mouth about that.’

 

‘I don’t like being poor,’ said Ron with a sigh.  The only things in his life that weren’t rubbish had always been Harry and Hermione.  Then he’d found the flat, which was perfect and brilliant and so very _his_.  The flat wasn’t rubbish, but now he was back to being poor, back to having no money.  If Harry paid for the flat, then it would be _Harry’s_ flat and everything of Ron’s would still be rubbish.

 

‘I’m sure you don’t.  Once you’re through the Auror program you’ll have loads of money.  They made decent salary, or so I hear from Tonks.’

 

Ron nodded.  ‘Yeah.  Three weeks, though, with this bloody weird-looking thing on my arm.  Hermione supposes that Dubois _wanted_ something to blow up while we were looking.  Though I don’t know why you’d want anyone cursed.  Seems a little harsh.’

 

‘They don’t know what kind of curse it was?’

 

‘No.’

 

‘Lupin told me that some houses have wards and if they’re destroyed despite the wards, the magic from them sort of pools together and is contained within the ruins.  So the wards are still active in the ruins of the house and by disturbing them you make them active again.’

 

‘Who has those kinds of wards on their house anyway?’ asked Ron.

 

‘Someone with something to hide.’

 

‘Have you been talking about this with Lupin already?’

 

‘Yeah, Hermione and I think it’s very strange what happened.  It makes sense that you’d have to be careful with artefacts from people’s homes.  There’s no telling what some people have, but you picked up a piece of wood, didn’t you?  From an outside wall?’

 

‘I thought I did.’

 

‘Whatever was hidden in that house, the Marcus and Dubois company wants.’

 

‘Why wouldn’t they hire me back?  It’s fucking unbelievable.’

 

‘Maybe they don’t want you to figure out what we’re figuring out right now.’

 

‘Did Hermione help you think of most of this stuff?’ asked Ron, his lips curling up in a smile.

 

‘Yeah, mostly.  Her and Lupin.  God, the two of them together.  Tonks and I could barely keep up.  We’re more action.  They’re all intellect.’

 

‘Intellect is hot,’ said Ron.  ‘She didn’t come by St Mungo’s to see me yesterday.’

 

‘She said she’s really busy with Hogwarts things, but she’d be by today sometime.  I think for dinner.  McGonagall wanted her to move her things into her new quarters and she has to read all the textbooks.  Most of them she’s already read, but you know Hermione, she’s got to memorise them before she can call herself “prepared” to teach.’

 

‘Ha-ha, that sounds like our Hermione.’

 

‘You missed Ginny’s birthday.’

 

‘Did I?  I suppose I did.’

 

‘She’s leaving for school in another two weeks.  It’ll be strange not seeing her so often, but it’ll be good for us, too.  She’ll be busy with NEWTs and I have to study for those tests myself if I ever want to get a job in the Ministry.  Though I still think I might try out for one of the Quidditch teams.  What d’you think?’

 

‘I wouldn’t take the NEWTs if I didn’t have to, but Quidditch players never play for more than a handful of years before retiring anyhow.  You could always be an Auror later on.’

 

‘Maybe,’ said Harry with a sigh.  ‘This is all very complicated.’

 

‘Right, I know.  Complicated.  Did Hermione say what time she was going to come over?’

 

‘No.’  Harry paused.  ‘If I tell you something, will you promise not to say anything to anyone?  I don’t want Ginny to get word of this.’

 

‘Sure, I promise.’

 

‘During the interview with Luna’s dad, I actually cried.  D’you remember the last time I cried?’

 

‘Dumbledore’s funeral?’

 

‘Ron, I never cry, but _goddamn it_ , thinking about everyone who died.  Having to answer those questions about what I’d say to my parents and to Sirius?  It was – I don’t think I’ve ever tried to mourn or grieve or anything over them.  Hermione told me it was very important to do, that you had to grieve to really move on in life.’

 

‘Hermione’s very clever.  She knows what she’s talking about.’

 

‘I’ve been talking to her loads lately.  It’s really helped.’

 

‘Good,’ said Ron.  ‘I’m glad you are still friends, even though she and I are dating.  I knew dating her wouldn’t put a halt on your friendship with her.’

 

‘I’m telling you this because I think you might want to talk to her, too.’

 

‘Excuse me?’

 

‘Well, Ginny says—’

 

‘If you’re concerned about how I’m handling my brothers and dad dying, I’m handling it just fine, thank you.’

 

‘I don’t mean—’

 

‘Really, Harry, I’m depressed enough as it is not having a job any more and my girlfriend not visiting me yesterday at the hospital.  I don’t need to listen to the shit from you as well about how I’m dealing with everyone’s deaths.’

 

‘Christ, Ron, calm down.’

 

‘Whatever, Harry, I need a nap.  Whatever healing potions they gave me at St Mungo’s are making me sleepy.’

 

Without another word, Harry got up from Ron’s trunk and walked out of his room, closing the door behind him.  Ron got up and took off his clothes and found some clean pyjamas to change into.  His arm was beginning to hurt him again and he ended up taking one of the pain-numbing potions the Healers gave him before he left.  It made the pain in his arm go away, but it also made his eyes very heavy and he quickly fell into a fitful sleep.

 

XXXXXXX

 

**To Be Continued ...**

 

XXXXXXX


End file.
